


I Will Possess Your Heart

by mellowmorgan



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama, M/M, Modern Magic, Modern Royalty, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-11-23 04:38:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellowmorgan/pseuds/mellowmorgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU. In the city of Camelot, where sorcery has been banned and those that practise it are imprisoned, exploited, or killed, two men have been destined to free them and end the war against magic. Meet Arthur, future king of Camelot and captain of the elite patrol squad, whose father has seeded within him a deep hatred for magic. When he first meets Merlin, a boy who was forced into prostitution because of his magic, he is cold and distrustful. But after helping Merlin escape from a brothel, he finds himself cutting a new path for himself and the fate of Camelot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Arthur spent many sleepless nights out roaming the city streets, aimlessly wandering towards no destination. He loved the city at night.  It was invigorating, nostalgic and familiar, the way the cold air bit at his skin, how the sharp smell of old rain and smog clung to his lungs, how the city lights reflected off of the wet sidewalks in a pool of amber and neon.  
  
Arthur blinked a few times when he first stepped out of his flat and looked out into the streets. The glowing lights of street lamps and store displays were blurred in his vision as they penetrated the darkness. Arthur’s eyes were always bleary and tired, like his mind that remained in an almost dreamlike state, deprived of sleep but still craving the night. There was something addictive about it, the quiet murmuring of the city while she slumbered—it was a different place entirely, not bright and loud and overwhelming like the day was. The people were different too, becoming more subdued, with their cautious eyes casting shifty glances, and their slender forms melting into the darkness. Arthur had to be wary of them though, for Camelot was a dangerous place, especially his district, crawling with criminals and magic users alike. But then again, it was his job to prey on those that practised sorcery, so he had to lurk in the shadows as well, watching and waiting.  
  
Uther Pendragon was the first ruler of Camelot to ban magic, and as his son, Arthur had a responsibility to enforce such laws. He was part of Camelot’s elite patrol squad, an extensive band of men specifically trained to apprehend magic users, or kill them if the need arose. Arthur wouldn’t hesitate to kill a criminal if they were threatening another’s life or his own. In fact, he’d probably killed more men than anyone else on the squad, and he almost _always_ worked alone. He was just that good.  

Not that the others weren’t highly skilled men. For instance, Gwaine, Leon, and Percival, the other patrol-men in his district, were all brave enough in addition to being excellent shooters. But they didn’t possess the same level of strength and stealth or stony resolution that Arthur did, because none of them were Uther’s son.  
  
Uther had told Arthur ever since he was a little boy that magic was evil and must be controlled, if not completely eliminated. His heart was embittered with a hatred for the dark arts, and that bitterness had managed to rub itself off on Arthur.  
  
By the time he had hit puberty, Arthur could wield a gun better than his own father, who made him practice hours upon hours each day at the targets. He was forced to learn the law codes word by word, and even learn a thing or two about magic as well. Not that he had learned anything about actually using the dark arts. That was strictly forbidden, of course, but his father had always stressed the importance of knowing the enemy’s tactics. Being knowledgeable of their powers and how to elude them was imperative. Heeding his father’s every word had served Arthur well. Now at the age of 21, he had more arrests and kills under his belt than anyone else on the squad. He’d also worked his way up to being assigned captain over his patrol in District 1, the shadiest district in Camelot.  
  
While Arthur was proud of his position, he often found it overwhelming. There was the crushing weight of responsibility and fate that burdened him, constantly reminding him that he would one day have to step up and assume the position his father now held. The future king of Camelot; the thought was foreboding. He would sometimes ponder about it when he was out walking at night, patrolling the streets. That was one thing about night-time, its quiet stillness allowed for plenty of meditation.  
  
He often wondered why magic hadn’t been banned before his father’s rule. All of the people that he’d encountered who practised it seemed like empty shells, consumed purely by evil and vengeance. How could it have _not_ been banned, and how were people able to live peacefully, when witches and warlocks were running rampant? There was no good that could come of it; that’s why his father did everything in his power to repress the evils of sorcery, and Arthur obliged to do the same. Whenever his father’s time came and he passed on, Arthur would follow in his footsteps, seeking to keep the city safe by assuring that all magic users were imprisoned or put to death.  
  
As Arthur turned the street corner, he felt a distinct tingling in his spine, goose bumps prickling his skin beneath the snug leather jacket he wore. Call it instinct, or perhaps an inherent physical reaction that he alone possessed. But whatever it was, it happened whenever Arthur was within close range of magic. Another trill of energy hummed through his bones, and he sunk into the shadows of the alleyway, bracing himself against the grimy brick wall and sneaking a hand into his jacket. Inside was a holster sporting two guns, a semiautomatic and “tranquiliser”. The way it worked was pretty simple, really; with a mere pull of the trigger, a small needle filled with antidote shot out and struck the target, rendering them unable to perform magic for a span of a few hours. He didn’t know much about it, except that it had been invented by a man named Gaius during the Great Purge. He also knew that once a magic user was detained, it was administered to them throughout the day in the form of pills or vaccinations.  
  
Arthur felt his mobile vibrate against his thigh, probably Leon responding to the signal he’d just sent him. He pulled it out of his pocket, one hand still gripping the gun. “You’ve got a night owl?” Leon’s familiar voice echoed from his phone.  
  
“Yeah, I think so, maybe 10 metres away. I need a car,” he answered in a low whisper.   
  
“…Magicker?” Leon asked with a marked hesitance. He knew how Arthur was when it came to magic.   
  
“Yep.”  
  
“Got it, I’ll be right over.” _Click._ Arthur tucked the phone back into his pocket. His pulse quickened as he caught the end of a splash, and then the sound of someone’s heel plodding down on the cement sidewalk. Their audible steps grew louder and more frequent. They were running, and they were close. Arthur could also sense that they weren’t some petty thief stealing potions, but something much more powerful. His body didn’t respond this way unless he was in the presence of sorcerers. Arthur watched as they ran right past him in a black flash of fury. He pursued them, not bothering to send an alert signal for backup; Leon was already tracking him from his mobile.  

 He ran faster, feeling the backsplash of cold water hit his calf. The bottoms of his jeans were now completely sodden, but he didn’t care. He was on a one-way street. His heart beat like a drum in his chest and he could feel it throbbing in his ears, a rhythmic soundtrack to the chase. He made himself push on despite the icy burn aching in his lungs, until he was able to see the runner more clearly. They wore a black trench coat and had long, dark strands of hair that fluttered like ribbons behind them. _A woman_ , Arthur calculated. She glanced back at him, suddenly aware that she was being chased. Her skin was pale like moonlight, and her expression fraught with panic. But that was all Arthur could catch in her features before she turned abruptly into an alleyway, disappearing from view.  
  
“Fuck,” Arthur cursed through gritted teeth as he slid to a halt, managing to drop the tranquilliser in the process. He ignored it, taking out his gun instead and pursuing her down the darkened street, until the woman slowed and froze in her place. “ _Dead end_ ,” he whispered in an ominous tone, licking his lips and smirking predatorily. Arthur had his gun pointed at the shrouded form, ready to fire.  
  
 “Stop!” a desperate voice rang out. Arthur lowered his gun, realising that the voice was vaguely familiar. The woman turned hesitantly and emerged from the shadows, revealing her identity.     
   
“Morgana,” Arthur gasped in a strangled voice, his blood running cold by such a forbidding apparition from his past. He hadn’t seen her in three years. All of the painful memories came flooding back like an emotional deluge, reopening tender wounds that he didn’t know still existed, probably because he’d buried them deep inside himself. But no, they were definitely still there. They’d festered and spoiled there, turning to bile as they rose up and burned his throat.  
  
“It’s nice to see you too, Arthur,” she hissed sarcastically, his name dripping scornfully from her lips. He took a step forward without thinking. “Don’t come any closer! I’ll hurt you,” she warned, backing up. Her wild eyes stared into his spitefully, despairingly. She looked shaken and crazed, utterly lost to the world, as though the darkness inside her soul had seethed through her skin and painted something ugly. For a moment, Arthur almost pitied her. But then he had to remind himself that she wasn’t his sister anymore, but something much darker; sorcery had tainted and consumed her. She was now a mere husk of the young woman he once knew.  
  
“Arthur!” Leon cried out in the distance, his voice dithering in echoes through the narrow alleyway. Arthur gave a pause and Morgana sprang before he could react. Her eyes flashed bright gold in the darkness, and she sent Arthur flying through the air, until he met the hard, brick wall with a bone-crushing slam. Everything was a blur of dizziness and throbbing pain once his senses returned, and his bruised bones gradually realised their damage, sending aching tremors down his body. Bright dots muddled his vision when he finally opened his eyes. Leon was looming above him. “Arthur?”  He gave his shoulder an apprehensive shake.  
  
“I’m fine,” he insisted with a groan. He tried to pull himself up, gripping onto Leon’s outstretched arm, but collapsed back onto the wet ground, unable to even stand from the unbearable pain. Arthur thought he saw Morgana disappear into the shadows before everything went blurry. The world was suddenly black as Leon’s frantic voice faded into silence.

 

~*~

 

The next time Arthur awoke, he was in his old bedroom at the Pendragon estate. The mattress was uncomfortably stiff and unyielding beneath his sore body, an immediate indication that he wasn’t in his own bed. And then the smell of pot-pourri and window cleaner brought back childhood memories that weren’t necessarily pleasant, but nostalgic nonetheless.  
   
 The sound of someone shuffling made him try to sit up, but then pain shot down his back. “Fuck,” he groaned and winced, sinking back into the pillows.  
   
“My lord, you’re awake!” a startled voice called out. They made a clattering noise before scampering to his bedside. It was one of the housemaids. She looked familiar, with her dark skin and curly hair. But Uther went through a lot of servants, so it was difficult to remember any face or name. “I was told to notify his highness as soon as you awoke,” she informed him, and then added, “I’ll bring you some painkillers.” She smiled so brightly that Arthur had to squint and looked away, nausea twisting in his gut. He really wasn’t a morning person, or a day person for that matter, especially when he was in so much goddamned pain.    
  
“Arthur!” his father greeted him as he walked in a few minutes later, the maid from before trailing softly behind him. Uther was still in his sleeping robe, which was a little disconcerting to Arthur, who was not accustomed to even seeing him in casual wear. He almost always wore a suit and tight-lipped frown.  Now he was in a robe and smiling at Arthur with visible relief.  
  
“I’ve brought you your pain medication, sire,” the maid said timidly, skirting her way around Uther and setting a glass full of water along with two tiny, white pills on his bedside table. Arthur swallowed the medicine and water, utterly parched and even more nervous under his father’s diligent gaze.  
  
“Thank you, Guinevere.” _Oh_ , _Right. Guinevere, Morgana’s old serving maid_ , Arthur suddenly recalled as Uther dismissed her. The thought resurrected the image of Morgana’s face.  

“Father, what going on? Why am I here and not at my flat?”  
  
“Calm down, Arthur. Sir Leon called me as soon as you passed out, and I demanded that you be brought here immediately.”  
  
“But why? I’m fine.” He tried to sit up to prove himself, but ended up doing the exact opposite when he felt the same pang run down his spine. “Shit,” he cursed, sagging back down onto the bed.    
  
“I’m afraid you’re as stubborn as I am, my boy. But regardless of what you want to believe, you _were_ badly injured last night. That’s why I’ve sent for my old friend, Gaius, to treat you.”  
  
“Gaius… he’s the one who made the antidote!”  
  
“Very good,” Uther studied approvingly. _The many years of history lessons have not gone to waste_ , _it seems_ , Arthur thought sarcastically. “He also happens to be the best physician in Camelot; I’m certain he’ll have procured just the thing for you, and you’ll be back to patrolling in no time,” Uther promised almost cheerfully. “Now,” he digressed, his voice taking on a more sombre tone as he pulled up a chair and sat beside Arthur. “Tell me what happened.”        

Arthur swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly parched. “I… I saw Morgana.”  
  
“What?” his father gasped, eyes wide with shock. He looked so old in that moment, with the distraught expression on his wrinkled face, lines and creases mapping a lifetime of struggle. The mere mention of her name made Uther tremble in his seat, betraying his usually cold and impenetrable demeanour. He swallowed hard and averted his eyes from Arthur’s curious gaze. He trusted his father, but he also knew his father hid many secrets from him. Secrets about his mother… secrets about Morgana. “Tell me, Arthur,” his father demanded, shaking Arthur slightly to stir him from his reverie.  
  
“She—she seemed so different,” his voice broke as he fought a sob. For some reason it was so much harder now, in his father’s presence. But he wouldn’t cry; that was far too weak.  
  
“Go on, tell me what else happened,” Uther pressed, his eyes not looking directly into Arthur’s. He’d never been good with emotions, but then again, neither had Arthur.  
  
“Well, there’s not that much more to tell. I had her cornered—at first I didn’t even know it was her, and I was about to pull the trigger… but then she turned around and I froze, and she used her magic against me…. that’s when I must’ve blacked out.”

“You let her escape!” He clutched Arthur’s arm suddenly, his tone turned severe. It scared Arthur, reminding him of when he was a boy and how his father’s lectures had often turned into abuse, filled with irate orders and vice-like grips. There was one time, when Arthur was around the age of ten, that he had skipped a lesson to sleep in. His father had rewarded him with an ugly bruise shortly after.     
  
“But if I—you’d have me kill her?” Arthur finally sputtered out. It was sometimes difficult to interpret what Uther said.  
  
“My son, you know that with sorcery there is no room for weakness.” Arthur felt a palpable chill from his father’s words. He was almost tempted to remind him that Morgana was still his daughter… but he remained silent, fearing his father rage, which he knew was easily agitated. The subject of Morgana was already an extremely sensitive one within their family that he desperately tried to tip-toe around. But in this situation, it simply wasn’t possible.

“But I—I know that magic is evil and that… that she is, as you say, evil… but father!”  
  
“There is no _but_ , Arthur. Next time, don’t show such wasted compassion. It’s misguided and pathetic,” he said cruelly. There was now disappointment and anger in his eyes, and Arthur had to look down at his hands to avoid the shame it provoked. “Understood?” his father asked.

“I understand,” Arthur finally returned in a defeated tone, his trembling hands clutching fistfuls of blanket. He bade them to still. His body was betraying him a lot lately, it seemed. And there was a new feeling overwhelming him now, one of anger curling in his gut.  
  
“Good.” Uther stood up slowly and went to the door. He hesitated and turned, remembering something. “Oh yes, I also wanted to inform you that I’ve made Leon the temporary captain over your patrol.”  
  
“What the bloody hell for?” Arthur fumed, indignation suddenly rising within him, and then a feeling of desperation. “Father, please don’t do this.”  
  
“You just need a while off. You can go back as soon you’ve healed… and learned from your previous shortcomings.” Before Arthur could respond, Uther left. The resounding click of the door shutting and the silence that followed seemed to confirm his father’s words of disapproval, and allow the reality of it to slowly sink it. It was a frightening realisation that he could no longer patrol; he had lost the only thing that he’d truly ever earned in life. His lineage, his princely title, and his power were bestowed upon him since birth; he’d done nothing to deserve them, and he had an inkling of suspicion that the people despised him for it. And so he tried to separate himself from that life of royal banquets and public appearances and pretentious interviews, to carve out something for himself that would show that he wasn’t useless.  
  
Gaius arrived to Arthur’s bedroom a short while later, immediately tending to Arthur’s back. He massaged some sort of ointment into it, gently rubbing the oily salve with his gnarled hands. Arthur let an embarrassingly loud moan escape him when the pain receded from his back almost instantly.  

“What’s in that stuff?” Arthur asked with a hint of suspicion.

“Oh, nothing special: birch tree oil for soreness, arnica for fractures, and skullcap for pain.”  
  
“No, there’s something else…” Arthur whispered, feeling an odd energy settle over him. “I’ve never had a painkiller so effective.”  
  
“Well, there might be a bit of magic in the mix as well,” he admitted quietly, helping Arthur into his white t-shirt.  
  
“Magic?! That means you have… but my father—”  
  
“Contrary to what your father might want everyone to believe, he is not adverse to all kinds of magic, especially when it benefits him,” the old man interjected, his tone full of a wisdom and patience. He was much older than his father and far milder, making Arthur question how they ever became friends, being so dissimilar.  
  
“That’s not true,” Arthur found himself whispering almost dejectedly. He was so confused, and half of him still denied that his father could lie to him, despite knowing he’d kept several things from him in the past.  
  
“How do you think the antidote was made? _I_ am the one who invented it, after all. And your father knew.”    
  
“But magic is evil.”  
  
“It can be, like any other weapon, except that it is of the most powerful kind. That is one reason why your father has attempted to purge it from Camelot.”  
    
“Why are you telling me this?” Arthur asked, his mind still muddled by the drugs and sudden rush of information.  
  
“Because, Arthur Pendragon, one day you will be king, and there are some things that you are entitled to know.” Gaius put a consoling hand on Arthur’s shoulder.  
  
“I thought you were his friend,” Arthur swallowed hard, his mind going in circles.  
  
“I am. He’s done a lot for me in the past, but that doesn’t change what is true… what is destined.”   

“What are you talking about?” Arthur entreated with some desperation as Gaius began to put his tools away. He needed answers.

“I’ll see you in a few days to check on your back. Get some rest,” Gaius mumbled, ignoring Arthur and gathering his things. 

“Wait,” Arthur pleaded, reaching his hand out as though to stop the old man. Gaius only turned and smiled before uttering a curt ‘ _sire’_ and leaving the young man to his confusion.  

With his vigour temporarily restored, Arthur was able to call a cab and return to his flat without anyone noticing. Until, that is, he received a string of frantic texts and calls from his father only ten minutes later, urging him to return to the mansion. But Arthur was exasperated by the fuss being made over him and held his ground. If anything, being worried over it made him feel weak and helpless, and so he did his best to calm his father’s nerves. “I’m just going to stay here and rest. I won’t exert myself, I promise, and I’ve got all the things I need from Gaius,” he reassured Uther, his voice a bit wavering through the mobile. He hoped his father couldn’t detect his sudden uncertainties. He thought of mentioning what Gaius had said and confronting his father, but ultimately decided against it.    
  
“Very well,” he finally yielded after a long pause. His heavy sigh of defeat blew static into Arthur’s ear. “Promise me you won’t go out at night.”

“Honestly, father—”  
  
“I know how you are, Arthur,” Uther cut in, his knowing expression infuriatingly vivid within Arthur’s mind.  
  
“Fine, I promise,” he conceded, though unsure as to whether or not he could keep his word.  

When Arthur felt the cab stop, he stepped out into the night, breathing in the cool air and feeling placated by the familiarity of it.  

And then like many nights before, the solitary life he led seemed to fully sink in as he laid there, the bare, white walls closing in on him, everything so unbearably silent and monotonous. Tonight was different though, as he was in a high state of utter numbness, most likely caused by all of the bizarre herbs and potions Gaius had given him. But it was also the knowledge that he wasn’t out patrolling the streets or lingering in the night that made him feel empty and displaced.  
  
Arthur woke up late into the next afternoon with his head and bones aching from restless sleep. He could also feel the pain in his back returning when he tried to go through his exercise routine, and had to quit. He swallowed a handful of pills to quell the stabbing pain that wrenched down his spine, and collapsed on the couch in resignation some minutes later. The rest of the day was a blur of eating crappy food and watching the television screen without actually watching it, feeling utterly miserable. As the windows of his flat darkened he felt an utter need humming inside of him to be out in the night. A rise of defiance swelled in his chest as he pulled some jeans on over his boxers. _I’ll just get some air_ , he thought, even as he concealed a handgun inside his leather jacket.  
  
“Dammit,” Arthur cursed when he felt his phone vibrating. “Who the hell is it?”  
  
“Did you not get your beauty sleep princess?” The voice was annoyingly cheerful and nonchalant at the same time.    
  
“Gwaine. What do you want?” Arthur snapped. He was not in the mood for Gwaine’s antics, despite him being a good friend and co-worker. It seemed the recent events had brought out the worst qualities in him: his short temper, his hurt pride, his insensitivity, his detachment.  
  
“Oh, I’m lovely, thanks for asking!”  
  
“Did something happen? You should have called Leon, seeing as he’s captain now,” Arthur sulked, realising suddenly how obviously petulant his voice was. There was an awkward pause before Gwaine replied, the empty silence bearing more weight to Arthur’s dejection.  
  
“What makes you think I was calling about work?” Gwaine finally continued, somehow managing to still sound flirty and annoying. “Percy and I are off tonight and, seeing as you aren’t working either, we thought it would be in your best interest to stop moping around and have some fun.”  
  
“Well, you thought wrong.”   
  
“Then why are you already dressed?”  
  
“What—”  
  
 “I can see you in the window, dumbass. Look down.” Arthur followed his instruction and, sure enough, saw Gwaine’s form dotting the sidewalk. Gwaine looked up and flashed a smile, his white teeth shining. “Your carriage awaits, my lord,” he proclaimed with a grand gesture towards the shiny black car parked beside him.  
  
“Fine,” he surrendered, letting out an exasperated groan before hanging up. He’d put up with Gwaine and Percival tonight, but he wouldn’t act happy about it. Little did he know, his life was about to change completely thanks to one young man. 


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur sat quietly in the backseat, though his nerves were on edge. He stared out the window at the blur of flashing lights and cars, longing like crazy to be out there in the night. Gwaine drove and chatted noisily with Percival in the front seat, but Arthur caught little of their conversation, which consisted mostly of lewd jokes and banter that Arthur really wasn’t in the mood for tonight. 

But despite his brooding, Arthur could still hear a hum—indecipherable and yet made up of a thousand tiny little noises, and he could feel a pulse that the night bore alone. He felt alive, but just barely. 

“So where are we going?” Arthur finally asked. 

“District 3,” Percival replied, turning his head to face Arthur’s. “My district before I got re-stationed to yours.” 

“District 3,” Arthur repeated to himself in a whisper, a sense of foreboding in his hushed tone. He’d never actually been there, but he’d heard plenty of rumours about how derelict the buildings were and how poorly its residents lived. Leon had once told him that even its prisons were in ill-repair,. And he’d seen the crime statistics: more activity than any other neighbourhood, but most of it was theft and gang violence, not magic. “What’s in District 3?” he asked indifferently, shifting his gaze so that he wouldn’t seem too interested, though he was practically itching for action after being cooped up in his flat all day. Being out in the night, she and her cold dark hold on him like a drug, had only teased at the furious itch crawling down his spine. 

“So now you’re interested? What happened to your sulking?” Gwaine asked with a smirk. 

“You know I could get both of you fired with a single call?” Arthur held up his mobile as though in mock demonstration, smiling wickedly. They looked at Arthur and then each other, pausing for a moment to actually question whether he was serious, before Arthur broke out into laughter. They let out a shaky sigh marked with relief, cursing under their breath. There was a delicate line there, between Arthur and his title, that in one moment seemed invisible or non-existent, and then exposed and breakable in the next. “So really, tell me where we’re going.” 

“You know how most of the arrests go to prisons?” Percival asked. Arthur nodded after a beat and he continued, “Well, some of them don’t. Some of them go to District 3.”

“OK…?” 

“They don’t actually go to prisons there, Arthur. They get put to work. Might as well make use out of them, right?” 

Suddenly he’d lost him. “Wait, what?!” 

“In factories, construction sites, brothels…” Percival listed, ignoring Arthur. 

“Why didn’t you ever say anything to me about this, Gwaine?” Arthur demanded, jabbing the man’s arm with his finger. He’d been his workmate and friend for years. It was like he’d been purposefully left out of the loop, though that seemed to be a reoccurring thing lately, considering his father and all that he’d kept from him; the secrets, the lies. Shouldn’t the fucking prince, the future king of Camelot, know about magic being used right under his nose? Apparently his father didn’t think so. And now fucking enslavement? Not that the thought of forced labour really deterred him; those lowlifes deserved whatever they got. But then again, he barely even knew what to think any more. 

“I thought that you already knew, being the bloody prince of Camelot and all!” Gwaine finally stammered out, rubbing his arm and wincing in pain. “How was I to know your father didn’t tell you. I mean this is level 1 stuff!” 

“He wasn’t trained like everyone else.” Percival whispered to Gwaine, even though he knew Arthur could hear him. It was true though; Arthur had been automatically accepted into the patrol squad when he’d turned 18. “And besides, he only ever handles the arrests, while we get stuck with bringing them in.” Percival eyed them both nervously out of the corner of his eye before looking out the window. “Here we are,” he said with a hint of apprehension in his voice. He pointed to a crooked sign with District 3 spray-painted on it. The original print underneath had long been worn away. Arthur peered nervously out the window beside him, holding his breath as he watched the garbage-laden streets roll slowly by. 

The old buildings sagged with a melancholy tangible on their paint-chipped façades, akin to human faces, decaying. The blackened windows looked like drooping eyes poorly shuttered, and the flickering lights of store displays were mostly blown out to read something unfinished or incoherent. Children, homeless men, and potential convicts loitered in the streets wearing the same expression of hopelessness. Their forms slogged by or slumped over lifelessly, shivering in tattered clothes. This was a poverty Arthur had never before witnessed. It wasn’t just the sense of destitution itself, but the very embodiment of it that loomed like fog over everything, a shroud of gloom and doom. In that moment, he understood why his father had never told him about this place. But he still wondered why it existed at all. 

“A lot of the people that live here work in factories with the prisoners. It’s really the only work for them. Most of the buildings you see here are abandoned,” Percival stated, though the only sound Arthur heard was a slur of words in the background as he continued to watch in a trance-like state. 

“You never told me where we were going,” Arthur eventually said in a shaky voice, still staring out the window. 

“Doesn’t matter. We’re here.” The car came to a slow halt as Gwaine shifted gears with a swift jerk. They had finally arrived.

Arthur reached for his hat, pulling it over his blonde, dishevelled hair and then pulling his hood over it. He never liked getting attention, but tonight he was especially wary, being so out of his elements. Although he highly doubted there was press nearby, he didn’t want anyone to recognise him, not even a citizen. The crown prince, _here_ , in the backstreet slums of District 3. Already the place had earned a derisive ring to it in his mind.

Gwaine led them into a building that looked deceptively like an apartment building in disrepair, much like the other buildings here. Arthur walked through the threshold with nervousness trilling through him, his hands buried deep inside his jacket’s front pockets. The sharp smell of stale beer and piss hit his nostrils as soon as they stepped inside, making his gut clench and throat constrict. He thought he saw a rat scurrying across the floor, but he couldn’t be sure. The place was too dark to delineate one creeping thing from the next. Arthur saw a closed door at the end of the passageway, its hinges shaking as the pulse of loud music and the dampened hum of voices leaked through from the other side. He squinted in the darkness and saw that the yellow, cracked walls were coated in a thick layer of grime.

“Relax, princess, you’ve seen worse,” Gwaine teased when Arthur bumped against him as tried to avoid touching the narrow walls. Gwaine was probably right about him seeing worse, considering his job, but in that moment Arthur wasn’t so sure. His skin was practically crawling when he reached for the knob. It was cold and wet in the palm of his hand as he twisted it and pressed forward into the dark, wild noise ahead. And then his eardrums ached and eyes twitched in their sockets with the sudden flux of sound and movement. The people were so crowded in the dark room that they couldn’t even move, but merely vibrate in place until their forms were somehow shuffled, swaying to the beat. The black lights cast a blue sheen on their faces, cut into sinister shapes as they did their nightly dance. 

“What is this? It isn’t a pub…” Arthur said as he took in the room, despite the bar in the back corner, where a man was serving drinks. He started again, “and it’s not a club,” despite the loud bass tune thumping in his ear, and man who’d broken away from the edge of the crowd and threatened to grind on him. “So what is it?” He yelled out as the music got louder. He leaned against one of the grimy walls that he’d tried so hard to avoid, braced between Gwaine and Percival suspiciously.

He looked up for a response and watched Gwaine’s moving lips, an obsolete vehicle for his drowned-out speech. Arthur yelled out again but found that he couldn’t even hear his own voice amid all of the noise. His heart pounded in his chest and his back ached as claustrophobia closed in on him. He reached into his jacket for his medicine bottle and popped a couple painkillers, thinking it would help for some reason. The place felt like an oven… with its unyielding space, no air left to breathe, and constricting heat. Perspiration sprayed from his hair in a fine mist when he pulled his hat off irritably. He was so worried by the crowding and the noise and the goddamned heat that he didn’t notice the man that had spotted him and was moving towards him. When he looked up, all he saw was the blur of someone’s face and then a fist flying at him. 

There was a distinct _Clip_ when Gwaine took them out with a swift right hook to the jaw. There was a tangible pause in the room when the man hit the floor with a hard thud and the music slowed to a bare, muted beat. Arthur could only curse and plan and pray all at once with his hand tucked firmly inside his jacket, touching his gun, as he watched their blank faces staring back. But there was no collective brawl that broke out, no retaliation against them for disturbing the peace, as Arthur had expected; the crowd merely looked at him in either confusion or wonder, except for a sloshed couple dancing in the back corner that couldn’t be distracted otherwise. Arthur eased his hand away from his weapon and bent down to survey his attacker as the room resumed its initial rhythm, and the sound had thumped back into a deafening loudness. That’s when Arthur realised that the man who’d tried to hit him hadn’t done so because of his identity. He was still completely oblivious to it when Arthur pulled him up from the floor and smelled the drunkenness turning sour and rancid on his breath. He was just a drunk, looking for trouble.

For a moment Arthur considered arresting him, but then Percival pulled him to the side. “You’re not on patrol right now, Arthur.” He could smell the cologne on his neck when he whispered in his ear. “We’re heading downstairs now,” he said, before leading him through the crowd and to a doorway in the back. Behind it was a dark stairway leading down to a closed door. It was so steep and narrow that they had to go down each step with extra caution.

It was suddenly quiet again, away from the other room. The music was dampened to a dull pulse again and Arthur could finally hear himself speak when he turned to Gwaine with a harsh look his face. “What the fuck was that? I can take care of myself, you know.” 

“Really, ‘cause you weren’t looking too hot back there, mate.” Gwaine smiled and patted Arthur’s shoulder as they made their way down the stairs. He always had to be so damn condescending about everything.

“I was fine!” Arthur hissed, although he knew that what Gwaine had said was true. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Where’re you taking me now?” he asked irritably, trying to change the subject and not wanting to linger on the fact that Gwaine had actually helped him. 

“Remember how I told you that the arrests in District 3 don’t go to prisons?” 

“Yeah, so?” Arthur tried to rack his mind for what Percival had said in the car. He remembered him mentioning something about factories and… brothels? _Oh, shit_. “A bloody whorehouse, that’s what this is? What the fuck is going on?”

“Jesus, Arthur, can’t you learn to have a bit of fun once and a while?” Gwaine asked irritably. 

“No. No way. I’m not doing this,” Arthur replied, refusing to budge, though his resolve was becoming alarmingly unstable. Maybe it was the medication.

“Aren’t you even a little curious about what your father’s been hiding from you?”

Arthur remained silent when they reached the closed door at the bottom of the stairway. He couldn’t deny the feeling of both fear and fascination twisting in his gut as Percival let his clenched fist waver over the door, hesitating. He looked over at Arthur, as though awaiting his permission or some token of consent. 

“Alright, show me,” he dared to say, voice scratchy in his parched throat. 

“That’s the spirit,” Gwaine said, patting him roughly on the shoulder as Percival rapped the door with three deliberate knocks. After a brief pause, a tiny window cut in the door slid open to reveal two dark eyes that were overshadowed by a brooding brow. 

“Percy?” A deep voice asked from behind the door, the dark eyes squinting. “You know the back door’s for drop-offs, right?” 

“We’re not on duty.” Percival informed suggestively, and his eyes flickered over to Arthur. The eyes in the window followed his gaze and widened when they recognised him, the crown prince of Camelot. An audible huff sounded from behind the door, belonging to the pair of eyes, no doubt. The window shut suddenly and the door flew open. “It’s good to see you, Cenred.” Percival braced arms with the man. His dark hair was a lot like Gwaine’s, shoulder-length and wavy, but hung in loose, greasy strands around his darkened face. The tiny gold dragon stitched onto his jacket indicated that he worked for Uther, but the emblem itself did little to belie the menacing look about him. 

The room they now stood in was not what Arthur had expected. Though it was difficult for him to have any expectations at all of something he knew so little about. He couldn’t even imagine what a prostitution house might look like. But still, Arthur was a bit confused when he walked into the empty room with white-wash walls and stained tile floors, giving more of the impression of a hospital lobby than a place where people paid for sex. The air smelled of disinfectant and something else more elemental, perhaps blood or semen. 

“Percival,” A female voice charged through the silence, interrupting Arthur’s thoughts. A woman stepped out of the shadows and into the brightness. The light fixtures flickered sporadically above like some ill-omen, illuminating her face like something sinister. She had long blonde hair, green eyes, lined with black, and a sneer twisting at the corner of her lips. She wore a dark red gown that made her look sultry and commanding and all the more out of place. Despite this being a brothel, there was nothing in the barren room to indicate that it was such an establishment. 

Cenred stepped towards her, flustered and fearful and reverent all at once. “Morguase, this is Sir Gwaine and—”

“I know who it is,” she snapped, pushing him out of the way. He yielded to her hand deferentially, backing towards the wall with a cowered look. Arthur wondered who this woman could be to have such power over a man twice her size. “The prince of Camelot,” she began, her voice turned low and sly as she snaked her way towards Arthur and spoke, “here, in my humble establishment.” She traced a hand up his arm thoughtfully, as if she were memorising him. Arthur shuddered from the strange feeling of her touch. Somehow it was almost wraith-like, giving him goose bumps beneath his thick leather jacket. “Do you know what it is that we do here, little prince?”

“I’ve been told that it’s where arrests are sent to in this district,” Arthur began hesitantly, after taking a deep breath and swallowing hard, “…where they are put to work.”

“But it wasn’t your father who told you that, was it?”

“No,” Arthur admitted, glancing at Gwaine and Percival, who only looked back at him nervously and lowered their heads, signalling him to continue. “Does he know about this place?” Arthur finally asked. 

“Of course. Your father owns everything… the prisons, the factories, the _brothels_. And it just so happens that _this brothel_ is the most lucrative. Uther doesn’t like to get his hands dirty though, so he has people like me to do it for him.” She paused for a moment to take in Arthur’s reaction. He only stood there, swallowing hard and fighting back tears. Why had he become so affected lately? It was driving him insane how little control he had here, in this moment. So confused and displaced. “Now tell me, Arthur Pendragon, why you chose to come here tonight.” Morgause said his name in an almost condescending manner, unbending in her lack of respect. She was a proud woman though; it showed in her voice and the way she stood. Her shoulders were set back as she walked slowly away from them, circling the room. Something was witch-like in the way she moved, her long gown flowing with each step, impossibly elegant and graceful. 

“He wants to know exactly what his father’s been hiding from him, and why,” Gwaine finally replied, after Arthur didn’t answer for some time. 

“Is that true?” She raised a brow at Arthur, and he nodded hesitantly in confirmation. 

“And why would you bring him here, boys? What have you to gain?” She asked Gwaine and Percival, looking them over suspiciously. 

“Well, Arthur’s not just the captain of our patrol, or the prince, he’s also our friend. We felt like he deserved to know. Plus there’s the added bonus of being here…” Gwaine said, smiling provocatively and raising a brow at Morguase, who returned it with a silent smirk. The implication of such a look made Arthur question if they’d been here before. 

Arthur was about to ask Gwaine when Morgause spoke up. “Then let me do the honours of giving you a personal tour of our facilities.” Her long, manicured finger-nails stabbed into his shoulder as she clutched him with a feline grip. But before she could lead them any further, a door in the back of the room opened suddenly. Billows of steam rolled in from the vents outside and cold air swept forward, taking them by the throat. One man entered, ushering in the night. Arthur noted his black and red uniform and the tranquilliser strapped to his hip. He was a patrolman. Arthur only wore the patrol suit during official missions; it was far too conspicuous for him. But everyone else on the squad was required to wear it unless they were going undercover.

“My lady, we have an arrest. A magicker.” Arthur swallowed hard at the mere mention of a magic user. “Oh, you have customers.”

“Guests.” Morgause replied. The man’s eyes travelled over them, and then froze suddenly when they met Arthur’s.

“Your highness!” His voice went high and his eyes widened at the unexpected sight. He fell to one knee and bowed his head submissively. Arthur other stood there watching, still uncomfortable in his own skin. The man rose with a slight wobble and whispered to Morgause, “I’ll just take them around back until you have chance to do a check-off.” 

“No,” Morgause stopped him before he could leave. “This is a perfect opportunity to show my guests how we do things around here.” The man looked back nervously from them to Morgause, who gave him a sly smile. “Go on then, bring them in.” The man gave her a slow nod and looked back at Arthur in uncertainty before leaving. 

The man entered a few seconds later, dragging in a young man bound by metal cuffs. He glared down at his feet, refusing to look up or meet eyes with Morgause as she surveyed him coldly. “Leave his keys with Cenred. You may go,” she instructed to the patrolman. Arthur couldn’t make out much of the boy’s appearance, except for the top of a lowered head and tattered clothing. He lurked in the darkness of the shadowed corner of the room. From what Arthur could see, he had short black hair and wore loose, ripped jeans with a worn hoodie. He looked poor and underfed, like most residents of District 3, no doubt. Arthur had never arrested such a young magic user himself; usually people didn’t turn to the dark arts until they were older or out on their own, and this kid couldn’t be over 17. But the way people acted in District 3 was different… people were more desperate, more hungry. It wasn’t difficult to imagine why they’d turn to sorcery or other banned practices at such an early age. 

“So, you were caught practising magic, is that right?” Morgause asked her new captive, her eyes aflame with voracity, akin to a tiger approaching its prey, though still considering him coolly. The boy refused to speak. He only kept his head bowed down in silence. “I spoke to you, magicker.” Her words took on a tone of disdain and impatience as she stepped towards him. “Uncuff him,” Morgause ordered, turning to Cenred. After his cuffs had been removed, she instructed the boy to take off his clothes. He remained motionless, until Cenred took hold of his arm and whispered something harshly into his ear. He sunk further into the darkness and began to reluctantly struggle out of his clothes. Arthur found himself looking away, despite being barely able to see him in the shadowy corner of the room. This was all just so fucking weird…. this feeling of anxiety humming through him, until it ended bitterly deep inside his gut… like something wasn’t right. 

“Come into the light,” Morgause finally said. There was a pause, a silence with a sound—if silence ever had one—of disquieted suspense, before she spoke again. “I said **COME INTO THE LIGHT!”** Her loud, unwavering voice split though the still air and made them all jump at once. Arthur was almost certain Percival had let out a squeak, but he didn’t bother to acknowledge it. This was definitely not the time for jokes.

Cenred finally pushed the boy forward into the middle of the room, where he stumbled onto the floor. His naked body was a heap of limbs and pearly white skin, fouled with purple and yellow bruises under the bright light. Still, he was a shock of white against the cool, dark floor beneath him. Arthur could see the knobs of his spine and bony shoulder blades as he writhed there despairingly. He was so naked, and the sight of all that pale skin and bone exposed made Arthur’s heart pound hard against his chest like a beating drum. He could feel it in his ears, throbbing. He felt sick. 

One might wonder why he was, in fact, so riled up by the sight of a naked body—an insignificant one, at that. But in reality, Arthur had never actually seen one other than his own, in person. Strange as it was, at the age of 21, he’d never had sex. He was usually indifferent when it came to anything other than patrolling, and that included women. Perhaps such indifference resulted from his father sheltering him and hammering that one-track mind-set so deeply into his consciousness. Work and duty were the only things that mattered in the Pendragon household. 

Arthur wasn’t complaining about his upbringing though. No one had ever really caught his eye. At least not enough for him to put himself out on the line like that—too risky.

But then again, here he was, in a bloody brothel… feeling more powerless and out of control than ever before. 

“Get up,” Morgause commanded as she hovered over the boy’s crumpled body. He was curled up inside himself, hiding his face and repressing a whimper. He just remained there, non-compliant and motionless, save a slight tremble. She loomed above him with a look of utter repugnance; her lip turned up into a sneer before she met eyes with Cenred and nodded. He gave him a swift kick in the ribs, and the boy cried out and groaned as he held himself more tightly. Arthur felt a sickness wash over him when the room filled with nervous laughter, Gwaine and Percival chuckling quietly despite the uneasy expressions on the faces. Arthur tried to manage a snicker, but felt disturbed at the mere thought, and found that he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Christ, he must be going crazy. After all, it wasn’t a big deal. He’d killed magickers before; laughed at them, beat them. But then why was it so hard now? What was this sudden feeling of guilt, provoking his conscience like a needle to the vein? 

Whatever it was, this strange and overwhelming emotion, it was only further antagonised by the boy’s cries and pained noises. Cenred lifted up the prisoner’s limp body and held him up by the underarms. Arthur felt something painful jerk in his chest when the boy choked out a strangled whimper, letting his weight hang lifelessly from Cenred’s callused grip. He was like a wooden puppet, crest-fallen and displaying his entirety. Arthur couldn’t control his eyes when they flittered cautiously over the expanse of pure nakedness, and then lingered there in awe. The body was exposed and tender-blemished, skin coloured varied shades of pink and ivory with a fine scattering of dark hairs, all lanky limbs and awkward protrusions. He was so thin it was almost scary—but it was the pure, raw power of the boy’s vulnerability that drew in Arthur attention. It was the closest thing to sex that Arthur had ever seen, and it made his breath catch and his eyes stalk shamelessly. His eyes drifted up to the captive’s face, and found two eyes staring back at him. They were big and dark and they stared into his very soul, making him shiver and look away, suddenly feeling that guilt and nausea creep over him again. But he had to look back, because those eyes were still looking at him, now despondently, but still proud and spiteful in a way, making Arthur tremble still. He didn’t want to know what the boy saw when he looked at him. 

Morgause looked between the two and smiled perceptively; she had been surveying the boy and scheming all the while. She went over to where Cenred held up the boy and took his chin in her hand, tilting it upwards. A stubbornness glinted in his deep blue irises, like his body had given up but his soul refused to yield. “A bit rough around the edges,” Morgause noted, ignoring the boy’s cold stare. “But they always are when they come off the streets.” she continued. “Tell me your name, boy.” 

He looked up, his eyes trailing across the room until they met Arthur’s, before speaking in a deep, steady voice that betrayed his beaten and withered appearance. 

“Merlin.”


	3. Chapter 3

The name had a resounding echo within Arthur’s mind when it was spoken through that curved bow of the boy’s lips, visibly swollen or perhaps just full, red tongue flickering against his white teeth with the cadence of such a strange word. It was almost exotic, or maybe just unusual. _Merlin_. And the boy was still staring him down with those cold blue eyes, icy and shadowed by a brooding brow. Arthur swallowed, hard and dry when he forced his eyes a way, breaking the gaze in an almost cowardly way—because he wasn’t the type to do that. He saw it as a show of weakness. He’d stare into the face of Death until it finally averted its gaze and loosened its tight grip on Life, but not this time. The boy was naked and bruised and Morgause had meant to shame him in some way; but he wasn’t ashamed—his eyes still held something so real and proud.

It scared Arthur, that killing gaze. And in it, Arthur had thought he’d seen a passing reflection of golden light, though it could’ve been a mere trick of light. It almost looked like magic, but that was impossible. Surely the patrol-man had tranquillised him, or given him some form of the antidote.

Either way it didn’t matter, because as Morgause was circling the boy, raking her eyes studiously over his nakedness, Cenred reached into his tightly-fitted leather jacket and pulled out a small hypodermic needle. He pumped it once, so that neon blue fluid, so characteristic of the antidote used to sedate magic users, came spitting out its viscously sharp tip. It was all rather sinister and even Gwaine shuddered a bit at how menacing it looked under the dull, flickering lights that desperately needed changing. They made Arthur's head ache. But maybe it was the pain killers. 

Cenred went to hand the needle to Morgause, but then something beeped noisily in the room, distracting her. She pulled out her mobile phone and looked at the screen. Her eyes danced nervously at Arthur and she left the room in a rush, but not before whispering something into Cenred’s ear. He stood slightly taller once she’d left, eyeing them all suspiciously and keeping a tight hold on the boy’s lanky arm. 

“What the hell’s going on?” Arthur demanded in a harsh whisper. The question seemed to be a frequent one this evening. 

“No clue. It’s difficult to tell with Morgause. She’s kind of…” Percival began, and Gwaine finished with an indiscreet cuckoo noise. “I was going to say **unpredictable** ,” he corrected in a dry voice, but not without letting a slight smirk play at the corner of his lips when he glanced at Gwaine. There seemed to be a secret exchange between them that Arthur had never noticed until now. Probably came with being so out of the loop. 

Arthur chuckled nervously and turned to them both, trying hard to ignore the boy in the background. But his eyes were still boring holes into his back with that killing gaze; Arthur could feel it. “So you’ve been here a lot?” he asked Percival. 

“Like I said, I used to work in this district. I turned in a lot of arrests here. Even went here a few times outside of work, if you know what I mean…” 

“ _Oh_ ,” Arthur could only reply, upon realising what the answer implied. The thought of his friend and co-worker being that way with a magicker, touching them, paying to have sex with them… it bothered him…. made him feel ill. It wasn’t quite like nausea, but a disturbed feeling, racing cold and ugly and unsettlingly through his veins. But why should it? He knew about prostitution; it wasn’t that uncommon, though he had no idea it was so extensive, so controlled, and by his father, at that. He also didn’t know that those who practised sorcery were involved. Not that it mattered, they were trash anyway. But nonetheless, nausea boiled sickeningly in his gut. 

He could only guess that there were similar places like this tucked away in the underbelly of Camelot. The bad neighbourhoods, the backstreets, the bar corners he’d never managed to pass through at just the right moment to discover their secrets. Perhaps Gwaine had visited one as well. He was the flirty, daredevil type who’d do anything that was even vaguely adventurous. It wouldn’t be so difficult to imagine him visiting a place like this. Arthur looked over at Gwaine, who was distracted by another prisoner being sent in. This time it was a pretty woman with dull blonde hair and a slight figure. 

“Morgause is unavailable at the moment. Just put her in the back,” Cenred directed the two men that were holding her. The men nodded and disappeared through a corridor, pressing the woman forward. She had a tired, surrendering look on her worn face. She didn’t look like the typical magic user. But then again, neither did that boy, Merlin. They both looked so young and unassuming, probably why they were here and not in the prisons. 

“Where are they taking her?” Arthur asked Percival in a hushed voice. He was uncomfortable with Cenred hearing them. 

“To her cell probably. That’s where the arrests usually go until Morgause has a chance to look them over and approve them. If they’re approved, they get their own room. That’s where they take customers. It’s locked from the outside, of course. Wouldn’t want them escaping.”

“And if they aren’t approved?”

“Then it’s off to the prisons with them. Or...”

“Or what?” 

“You know,” Gwaine cut into the conversation, raising his brow and gesturing crudely towards his throat. 

“Oh, right, execution.” Arthur felt his voice crack and he wondered why. He remembered how many magickers he’d killed, and how many of his arrests had probably been executed. He’d never thought much of it, just a part of the job… and his destiny… but that was before he’d found out about his father’s deceptions, before he’d been forced to confront everything he’d ever known and question it as true. To be honest, he’d tried to put it out his mind; but here in the reality of everything, grimy and bloody and crude, it was impossible to ignore what was right in front of his face. 

Arthur turned around, and there he was. _Merlin_. His hands were cuffed again and hanging loosely in front of him, so that some of his nudity was concealed. His head was bent down, but his eyes were still looking up from beneath the pronounced ridge of his brow. He’d been listening to their conversation the entire time, and though his face was still passive and rigidly-placed, there was a fear—or perhaps a bare hint of desperation—glinting in those blue-grey eyes for the first time. Arthur could almost hear what the boy was thinking; a faint whisper in the boy’s telling gaze, asking for mercy where it wasn’t due. It couldn’t be; he deserved whatever unpleasant fate awaited him. But then his eyes—Arthur was suddenly lost in them—and for the first time he didn’t see a magicker, a criminal, or a mere husk—the medium for evil, but just a human. And goddammit those eyes…! They were timid yet bold, pleading yet defiant, ugly yet almost beautiful, all within the same fragment of a second before their gaze was interrupted. _No, he's a magicker_ , Arthur told himself again. 

Morgause entered, her sharp heels clicking on the hard, tiled floor as she walked across the room and towards Arthur. “Daddy sends his regards,” she reeled in voice as scathing as ever. 

“What?” Arthur could only manage, his heart suddenly beating fast. Any mention of his father scared him for some reason. Set him on edge.

“He was making his routine call, checking up on things… but when I mentioned that the prince of Camelot was visiting, he didn’t seem too pleased.” Arthur didn’t know what to say, and all he could think was how nervous and angry he felt. He didn’t like this woman _**at all**_. He could feel something cold and mean and evil about her, even though she was supposedly on the side of the angels. Of course, he felt the same way about his father, but that was different… a natural thing, wasn’t it—to fear your father, and yet also yearn for his love? 

“Don’t worry though, I told him you were here just to have some fun. Isn’t that right?” She asked, looking at them all expectantly. They glanced at one another and shook their heads slowly after a confused pause. “Good.” She looked around the room in a calculating way, as though she was scheming something with those snake-like eyes, lined with black charcoal. “Percival, Gwaine, I’m sure you’d prefer to entertain yourself elsewhere? I know you’ve both seen this before,” she stated, procuring the needle yet again. Merlin flinched when its sharp point came into focus under the intermittent light. 

Two tall, broad-shouldered men walked in through the hallway... the same men from before. They loomed behind Gwaine and Percival, waiting. 

“Wait, what’s going on?” Arthur asked when Percival nodded at him and turned to face the two men. 

“We’ll only be a little while Arthur,” Gwaine said, giving Arthur a meaningful look as though to appease him, and then following Percival and the two guards down the hallway. I didn’t appease him though, because he was confused and scared and alone now. And for some reason, he knew that this was all planned. It was going to end right here. Like this. His heart was suddenly beating like a dull drum against his chest. He could feel it in his ear. _Apprehension._

“Where are they going?” Arthur whispered to Morgause in an exasperated voice. He’d never felt so vulnerable before. Even on the streets he had more control… but here, here he was so cut off from the truth and what he knew. This wasn’t grounded.

“Just indulging, as men often do.” She raised her brow and gave him a wicked smile. _Sex_. 

“How did you know they’d…?”

“Well, people like your father and me, we know _everything_ , about _everyone_.” Arthur wasn’t oblivious to how much control his father had over Camelot. But this… her voice made him shiver. 

“So tell me, Prince Arthur,” she said condescendingly, walking over to Merlin and showing him the needle in a cruel, taunting way. She caught hold of his arm when he squirmed out of Cenred’s grip, her long, manicured nails biting into his pale skin as he struggled in her grasp. “Have you ever done this before?” she asked, turning to Arthur and lifting up the needle, waiting for his answer. It was like she was testing him. 

“Of course.” He lied in a shaky voice, not knowing why he did. He’d only ever used a tranquilliser gun before. He’d never been to the prisons where needles and pills were used.

“Then please, would you do the honours?”

Arthur took the needle from her hand and stepped warily towards the boy, who was looking at him with those soulful eyes again. Arthur felt faint all of a sudden, and he swallowed hard to bring himself back. He could do this; it shouldn’t be any harder than shooting someone, although this time he’d have to actually touch the magicker. 

He took another step closer, and Cenred pushed the boy towards him, into the light. The boy looked up. 

For the first time, Arthur could see his face clearly. It was so sharp and jagged, the way the shadows were cast from the bones that made him… hollow cheeks, high cheekbones, and sunken eyes. But his lips looked somehow misplaced, too soft and pouted—almost sensual with their fullness—for his angular face. And the ears, they were big too, making him look almost elfin. All of the parts of him seemed spare and thrown together, as though they didn’t fit. But Arthur stared long and hard anyway, like he couldn’t look away. 

The boy, Merlin, barely moved his lips, as though mouthing something. It almost looked like his name on them. It made Arthur’s heartbeat quicken and his right arm—the arm holding the needle—go numb. He stepped back unknowingly. 

“Second thoughts?” Morgause reeled behind him in an overly-pleased voice. 

“No,” he answered defiantly, grabbing hold of the boy’s thin arm. The touch made him shiver because for a moment he fully realised that this thing was real. And he was touching him—a magicker. 

The boy trembled and shook in his tight grip like a leaf fraught in the winds, threatening to break from its branch but too stubborn to yield. He was still staring into Arthur’s eyes, never blinking, and never looking away. It was like he was willing Arthur to stop with those eyes, so close that he could see them glistening and bloodshot, but Arthur pushed and pulled with him—against him, refusing to give way but feeling every fibre of his being somehow resisting.

No. He wouldn’t let some piece of trash off the streets make him look weak… make him feel... this feeling. _What was it?_ Fuck. He was a magicker… scum… a plague. And it was just a needle, he wasn’t even really hurting him, let alone killing him; the antidote was law. But even as he pressed the sharp point against tender white skin on his forearm, until it finally pierced the flesh, rupturing and entering him with gruesome, ragged _dig_ , the boy gasped and Arthur gasped with him. The boy still stared into his eyes, daring him and pleading him all at once. But Arthur wouldn’t give in; he ignored the sick feeling in his gut and pressed his thumb down firmly on the syringe, injecting the fluid into the boy’s bulging vein. 

The magicker stared at him with a sort of sad submission, as though he’d been betrayed. And then the bare thing shook with a violent tremor in Arthur’s grip when the antidote finally hit his bloodstream. He let out a moan—an unnerving, croaky moan that made Arthur cringe. 

The white of his eyes had gone pink when they closed, a salty drop hanging on a single lash. He wilted against Arthur, his breath stilling. 

“Wha…” Arthur breathed out when the boy sagged to the ground like he’d just died. 

“He’s merely fainted,” Cenred said with a derisive snort. He took the needle from Arthur’s trembling hand and disposed of it. Arthur barely noticed; he was still staring at the boy in shock.

Morgause looked from Merlin’s shrunken form to Arthur approvingly. “The antidote we use here is far more concentrated. It’s less risky that way, more economical, though it does have its side effects,” she informed him, studying the body again. “Yes, he should do quite well here.”

It took Arthur a while to realise what she meant… that this boy would become a prostitute, and a profitable one, at that. And suddenly, Arthur was picturing the boy being touched. It was the cold, dirty touch of some anonymous entity… a stranger… or maybe not a stranger. Maybe someone he knew, like Gwaine or Percival. He felt the acrid sting of bile rise up in his throat at the mere thought. _God, what was he doing?_

“Wake him up, would you, Cenred?” Morgause ordered, and the man nodded with a devilish smile, hanging on her every word and command. He reared his leg back, preparing to kick the boy, and then suddenly, everything slowed. 

Arthur’s thoughts and actions didn’t seem his own in that broken-measured moment. And he could feel his voice, a trembling bubble of potential sound that threatened to come bursting out, betraying him. He made an effort to contain it, but in the end it gained its own autonomy. 

“Stop!” he heard himself cry out shakily. His voice echoed back, a weak and pathetic voice that made his narcissism crumble. Cenred’s foot froze in mid-air, and there was the echo hanging in the dry silence still. 

They both looked at Arthur, shock written on their faces. Of course they had to do what he said, he was the prince. But at the same time, Arthur had never felt so uncertain in his life.

“What? Do you feel pity for this… this… magicker?” Morgause whispered carefully, eyes shifty. 

“No…” Arthur whispered back, trying to convince himself as much as her. 

“Are you sure? Maybe you should be the one to do it instead.” She challenged him. He simply remained silent, unmoving until he felt his legs lift and step forward. He looked at the unconscious boy, felt his heart beating hard in his chest, before he tried to find the will inside himself to do something. 

It would’ve been easier to shoot him, because then at least he wouldn’t have to look at him and use his own body, every muscle and breadth of resolve. And he had to hurt him, had to show that he was willing to do so without the tiniest bit of guilt or hesitation. That’s what Morgause wanted. She was watching, and somehow, he knew that his father was as well. She had talked to Uther before, and Arthur knew that she would talk to him again. Had his father arranged for this all to be done to him? Was this all a test? He could see Morgause out of the corner of his eye, running a thumb along her phone as though in expectation. 

And then it hit him. That’s exactly what this was. Why else would Gwaine and Percival take him here, and then leave him alone so suddenly? Were they behind this too?

His father must be worried about him… think that maybe he was turning, after what had happened with Morgana.

All of these sudden realisations made Arthur understand just how important it was for him to kick this boy, just to rouse him from his sleep but in a cruel, detached way, proving that it meant nothing to him… to hurt a magicker so easily. 

But he couldn’t do it ( _Why couldn't he?_ ).

“I can’t,” he said in a low voice, trying hard not to let it shake. “I mean…” Arthur started, trying to retract and save himself from being discovered. 

Arthur didn’t expect what happened next. 

“Let me show you how it’s done,” Cenred said in a smug voice, pushing him aside.

Before Arthur could react, Cenred kicked the boy hard in the back until he rolled over and groaned, his eyes fluttering open. He tried to crawl away, but all he could do was writhe on the floor with his cuffed hands incapacitated. Cenred kicked him in the belly and Merlin cried out, curling up inside himself. Arthur felt each kick like a hard, wringing punch to his gut, and he felt each cry that followed, withered and broken, pulling at his heartstrings until the beating muscle ached. And then he saw the red spilling from his mouth, mixed with spit in gooey ribbons. He felt like he was going to throw up or maybe even faint. 

“Stop it. Stop it!” he sputtered out. Cenred halted reluctantly and when he did, Merlin attempted to retreat in a desperate, worm-like crawl for the corner. Cenred didn’t bother chasing after him; but he laughed mockingly as a puddle of urine spread out from beneath the trembling boy. Arthur was all tight-wound muscle ready to explode now, clearly out of mind and body when he lunged forward and punched Cenred hard in the face. He could see the spit spraying in the air, hear the _crack_ as Cenred’s nose broke beneath his knuckle, and then feel his own bones vibrating afterwards. There was a crash when Cenred fell to the floor and Morgause watched, stunned. 

The boy watched too, through heavy-lidded eyes, drunken from the pain, and between shaky breaths. Arthur finally snapped back to reality and saw Merlin lying in the corner. He was punched to a bruised and broken mess. He'd be all right though; Cenred hadn't meant to kill him. Arthur leaned over Merlin and went to touch him, hand trembling, _could he really touch him?_ He did, and his hand came back bloody. The dripping, dark red water of life was tainting his hands, and it was a magicker’s blood. But then again, it looked and felt as real as anyone else’s blood... perhaps even more so.

“I—I’m sorry,” Arthur heard himself whisper in an uneven voice. He was shaking. He was going crazy.

And then Morgause finally spoke. “What the hell are you doing? You’re the prince, a patrol-man; you’ve killed more magickers than anyone else, and yet now you’re suddenly showing pity for this lowly boy off the streets? You punch one of my men—one of your father’s men—and break his nose?” Morgause’s voice was angry, and yet her eyes were cool when she looked at Cenred. She was too composed, like she didn’t care and was just trying to scare Arthur. Cenred, on the other hand, looked furious as he held his nose, blood pouring through his fingers and face flushed with rage. “Your father was right to worry about you. I wonder how he’ll feel when I tell him what a coward you are, Arthur Pendragon.” 

“No. This is…” Arthur started, not knowing how to finish, and feeling fear possess him again. He stood up and reached into his jacket. He pulled out his gun, hands quick and shaky as he pointed it at Morgause with a crazed look on his face. She flinched and stepped back, noticeably shaken for the first time. _What was he doing? Was he out of his fucking mind?_ “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” he asked, holding the gun with a deathlike grip. 

“What if I said it was?” Morgause was more submissive now, even though she still had that composed look on her face. 

“Why?”

“Those that show sympathy for magic users cannot be trusted,” she informed him calmly. “But let me ask you something, Arthur, why the sudden change of heart?”

“I haven’t changed!” Arthur screamed, a desperate cry hanging in his throat. “What do you think he’ll say?” Arthur asked in a worried voice. His emotions and insecurities were suddenly broke open now. He was vulnerable, despite the gun held in his hands and the entire room bowing to his will. 

“You’re his son,” Morgause said, although Arthur wasn’t sure whether or not it was meant to be reassuring. He was leaning more towards the latter. His father had spent the majority of his life repressing sorcery. He spared no pity for magic users. What would he think when his own son—the son he’d raised so proudly, to do the same as he— _did_? 

“God,” Arthur breathed out. He was overwhelmed by it all, and suddenly his whole existence was a cage, the entirety of his life a lie, and his future in ruins. He exhaled and lowered his gun. That’s when Cenred sprang towards him. Arthur didn’t have time to think, and consciously, instinctively, automatically, he pointed his gun and fired. 

Arthur hadn’t noticed how quiet the room was before he pulled the trigger. For so long, only their voices had penetrated the dark silence, but then there was the gunshot: an ear-splitting crack that jumped out and pierced through everything like an explosion. And the bullet, it had hit Cenred in the arm, but Arthur didn’t see it because suddenly he was backed against the wall with a hand around his throat. He couldn’t breathe and he could scarcely see but for the blur of Morgause walking slowly towards him with a hand extended. He looked down and saw that there wasn’t a hand clutching his neck, but instead… _no… it couldn’t be… magic_?! 

“You,” Arthur choked out through what narrow breadth of space he had left. 

“Yes. **I** have magic. I didn’t want to have to use it, but look what you’ve done… shooting people and ruining my floors… you’ve forced me.” Morgause feigned a devastated tone and smirked when Arthur struggled beneath her grip, his face confused yet livid. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Daddy will never find out, because you won’t have the chance to tell him, or anyone else." She stepped towards him, until her magic had tightened around his whole body and he could feel her breath barely on his cheek. "I didn’t want to have to do this, but goodbye, Arthur Pendragon.” 

Arthur shut his eyes tightly, flinching as he awaited death with utter foreboding. _This was the end, then?_

But death didn’t come. 

Instead there was a loud crash and Arthur felt the tightness around his throat instantly slacken. He slid to the floor, trying to regain his breath, lungs caving in air. Morgause was lying on the floor, sagged against the wall as though she’d hit it. Arthur looked around the room, light-headed—everything so dizzy and confused, until he looked over and saw Merlin, still a heap on the floor but his head slightly lifted. His eyes were wide open, twitching as golden light faded from them, before he exhaled and they closed again.

_What?_

_He was the one who…? The magicker had saved his life?_

_No. it was impossible. He’d just been given the antidote. Impossible._

Arthur considered that maybe it was just his eyes playing tricks on him, a mere illusion; he certainly wasn’t at his best. But no, he’d seen it, he was sure of that. Arthur didn’t linger on the thought for long though. He could hear Morgause letting out a stifled groan, like she was coming to, and he knew that he had to act fast. 

He needed to get the fuck out of here. 

He stood up, ignoring the sharp pain trilling down his spine and the dull ache thudding in his skull. He looked around again. There was the gun, on the floor by Cenred’s crumpled form, his life pouring out of him. Arthur gave him two minutes at best. Not that he cared, even as the Pendragon crest stitched onto his jacket was slowly stained by blood. Arthur put the gun back inside his own jacket and looked for his nearest escape. He didn’t know the place. He’d have to go back the way he came. He was about to make his exit when he heard a throaty groan in the back of the room. There was a frail voice too. “Don’t leave me,” it cried. 

The magicker. _God_. If he left him he would surely be killed, or enslaved at best. Arthur tried to make himself keep walking, but then there was that pleading voice again, and even without looking, he could still see that strange face so clearly in his mind. 

He turned. And in that slow, deliberate turn, he made his decision. The future was re-written with each cautious step forward, and the path towards the boy was like the path of his new destiny.


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur leaned over Merlin with the darkest sense of urgency and fear running through him, like the blood that pumped through his frantically beating heart. Those damn eyes, twitching with such intensity, flickered over from his to the wall as Merlin let out a groan twisted with a pain. And that pain was so palpable that Arthur could almost feel it too. He reached out a shaking hand, afraid to touch the smooth skin of the boy’s slight shoulder, so pale and with the barest hint of freckling. The gentle, soft feeling was a stark contrast to the rancid and jagged bleakness surrounding them. And the boy shivered at that single touch, like there was electricity buzzing from Arthur’s fingertips, dancing so deftly on the fuzzy hairs of his skin. There was little that Merlin could think of beyond how sore and beaten his body was in that moment. But then there was this man—the prince, a hunter of magickers, leaning over him. And despite all of that, Arthur was his only hope, and his hand felt soft and his eyes were bluer and clearer than any polluted sky he'd ever seen.

Everything was lucid in that moment. Arthur could feel the blood flowing through his veins and heart pounding against his chest; he was hypersensitive to everything around him. It was like when he was working, except that the earth was just a muted thud now in this underground space, instead of a lively pulse like out on the streets. He noticed how long Merlin’s eyelashes were as he puffed out a withering breath through his pouted lips. And Arthur could see that spare breath in the cold, dark air. He could even smell the elemental, almost metallic scent of blood on Merlin, mixed with the sour stench of urine in a puddle beneath him. Arthur had never seen anything so pathetic before. It was even worse than the broken stare Morgana had given him the other night. Had it been just the other night? It felt so long ago after everything that had transpired. 

“I’m going to get you out of here,” Arthur finally managed in a soft whisper that he himself was surprised by. _Where had it come from?_ He didn’t possess such a voice. “I’ll have to carry you,” he said with that same hint of tenderness. Perhaps it was his after all. 

The boy only replied with a nod and grunt, every small movement a struggle. He let out another noise of indicate assent, as though in expectation. 

Arthur went to lift him up and Merlin sagged, a dead weight in his hands and almost slipping from their shaky hold. It was strange and unnerving, grabbing him like this, and knowing that in a few seconds he’d being carrying him. _Naked_. And without even looking at him, almost not trusting himself to do so, Arthur hoisted Merlin up over his shoulder into a firearm carry. He tried to ignore the sticky dampness of the thigh against his cheek, and yet his nostrils still recognised the pungent smell of blood and sweat and piss. They both grunted in discomfort as Arthur adjusted Merlin’s lanky limbs and started for the door. There was a twinge wrenching down his spine; reminding him of his physical limits. 

“Fuck,” Arthur cursed in both pain and panic when he opened the door and looked up at the steep, narrow stairway. He’d never make it carrying the boy. He spun around and looked to the hallway that the guards had led Gwaine and Percival down, remembering how Cenred had mentioned a back door where arrests came in. It probably led to a back alley. It was his only way out. He darted down it without further thought. His legs moved quickly, bearing no hesitance, though he knew that guards would be waiting for him at the end. 

As he ran down the long, dark hallway, he could see the blur of heavy doors on both sides of the stained walls. There were also muffled noises of grunting and creaking of beds, punctuated by an odd, blood-curdling scream that filtered through them. These must be the rooms that they have sex in. Suddenly the hallway grew darker, though seeming unending, and its smell was dark and damp. And still, there was a pain shooting down his spine, tingling in its aftershock as he held onto the boy’s legs more tightly and ran faster, hoping that if he could just make it outside, he’d be all right—they’d be all right. But Merlin’s limp body was a burning weight on his shoulder; and his cuffed wrists were knocking against his back like a pendulum swings in its odious, oscillating rhythm. The painkillers were wearing off, and that pain was a biting one like sharp teeth against his nerve and bone. Everything was so hateful here.

Then there was a sound of distant shuffling and hushed voices, and Arthur could see shadows long and dark dancing across the walls like demons of impending doom. They were looming, watching, waiting. 

A light flickered ahead, like a light at the end of a deep tunnel—though not near so bright or hopeful. Indeed, it was quite the opposite. It only made him even more anxious. And with his fear grew the shadows, dancing more erratically until the hallway ended and their sources came into view; dark, towering forms in the dull light. But it was still so dark that Arthur couldn’t make out their faces. 

Arthur halted for a split second, lingering where the hall broke off into the backroom. The whole of the place was so damn dark and dull, but for the sole fixture whose glow danced off of the moving shapes and the metal of a prison cell’s bars and the knob of a distant door. The door!

“Hey, there he is!” A faceless voice called out. Arthur heeded It and reacted instantly. But instead of reaching for his semi-automatic, which was more or less instinctive by now, both of his hands went up to Merlin’s legs, holding onto them as though his life depended on it… like they were the only precious things that held him to the earth. He darted out into the dark room, hoping none of the men could catch him before he made it to the door. He heard gunshots firing behind him, ricocheting off the walls, but he kept moving. 

Adrenaline was pumping through his veins so quickly that he could scarcely tell whether or not he’d been hit when he finally made it to the door. He fumbled with the knob for a few long-suffered seconds, because there was no time to lose, but the rain of blasts behind him continued until Merlin let out a short, guttural sound against his back. _God, had he been hit?_ But no, the ceiling was suddenly shaking and collapsing, and there were screams amidst the deafening sound of sheetrock cracking and falling. Arthur didn’t bother looking back when he finally managed to kick the door open and race out into the night. It was only then that he glanced over his shoulder. 

It looked like the entire backroom had caved in and nothing but rubble remained. A layer of dust rose up from the wreckage, obscuring it all from sight. The thought of Gwaine and Percival entered his mind for a fleeting moment. But then the sinking suspicion of their betrayal arose again and he turned away with a heavy sense of resolve. He walked down the street, feeling the icy air of the night bite his skin. He could finally breathe again. But he didn’t know where the hell he was, and his back was burning something awful from carrying the boy. He stole down another alleyway and saw a large bin. He laid Merlin down behind it, on the wet, grime-covered cement. He let out a whimper but didn’t protest. The ground was rough and freezing and wet, stinging his bloodied cuts and pressing against his bruised skin. 

“Stay here,” Arthur whispered, not bothering to explain where he was going or if he’d be back; Merlin was barely conscious any way. 

Arthur stole back out into the open streets, where the alleyway that led to the brothel was still in view. His back hurt even more now despite the lack of weight burdening it. And perhaps it was the sudden relief and lightness that made him feel the pain more clearly. But it wasn’t clear; the pain was bright, drubbing blotches in his bone and skin and eyes. God, he needed to think, but his brain was going in circles as his head pounded and body ached. There were blurry lights of street signs and cars whirring past, but he couldn’t spot a taxi anywhere. Maybe they didn’t even have taxis, in a hellhole like this. There was a distinct smell here—so much more pungent than any other district he’d worked in—like piss and blood and sex mixed with rain and trash or maybe even rotting flesh. He couldn’t quite tell, because his senses had been dampened by the pain somehow. He was beginning to see dots and go dizzy when a sudden din came from the alleyway and two men emerged from the fog of dust and steam. At first his heart stuttered in his chest, thinking that perhaps they were Gwaine and Percival. But no—in the darkness he could see that they wore patrolling uniforms and wielded guns. His arm muscles twitched as he reached for his own but he was too slow. “Don’t even think about it,” one of the men warned. “Put down your gun, sire.” Arthur looked at what he was up against: two large men with both of their guns aimed and ready to fire. He was about to surrender and give up his firearm when a shadow stole furtively behind one of the men and knocked him out. The other man was distracted by it for a split second, as he watched his friend stagger and fall. 

That’s when Arthur took his chance—because mere fractions of seconds were what made a man’s fate sometimes, especially in a situation like this. By the time the man jerked backed to Arthur, Arthur had already flicked the safety off and pulled the trigger. The man fell with a thud. There was vague hint of vaporised lead that drifted in a single wisp from the barrel, and the shadow wavered behind its plume, until it waned and he could see the nameless vigilante’s true form. He kept his gun pointed at the man, hands shaking. _Focus._

He tried to steady his hands, thinking he’d have to shoot again. But then there was a deep, familiar chuckle that answered him. “Gwaine?”

He came out of the darkness, leather jacket covered in soot and his cheek slashed open. He put his hands up but without any genuine show of fear or submission. 

“You’ve managed to get yourself into quite a pickle, haven’t you, princess?” he scoffed. Arthur didn’t lower his gun though. He still didn’t know if he could trust him. 

“What’s going on? What the fuck just happened?!”

“I could ask you the same question.” Gwaine’s eyes flickered over to the dead body and then the rubble behind him. His face suddenly sobered. “But there’s no time for chatter. We need to get you out of here. _Like now._ ” 

“Who’s ‘we’? Where’s Percival?” Arthur asked, finally lowering his gun, but reluctant just the same. 

“He’s coming around with the car,” Gwaine answered in a steady tone while looking at his mobile screen. It lit up his bloodied face, and Arthur could see anxiety and stress written all over it. He was worried, despite the light, biting tone in his voice. “There he is,” he said as the car screeched to dead stop beside them. Percival rolled the window down, revealing his face that now sported a black eye. 

“Wait, what’s going on?”

“I’ll explain everything in the car. But we need to get out of here, Arthur.” Gwaine pulled at his arm as he raced to the passenger seat on the opposite side, but Arthur pulled back and didn’t follow. 

“No rush,” Percival muttered irritably. His fingers were tapping the wheel erratically, nervously. 

“Get in the fucking car, Arthur!” Gwaine’s voice no longer held that easy-going, sarcastic bite; it was urgent and demanding now. _Scared._

“OK,” Arthur finally gave in with an exasperated sigh. He didn’t know what to do any more, but he knew that he needed help. But he stood still, as a knotted string pulled tautly inside his chest when he remembered the boy. _Merlin_. Arthur pictured him curled up in the alleyway, alone and shivering… **waiting for him**. “There’s something I can’t leave without. Just give me 30 seconds!” Arthur called to them as he ran off. He could hear Gwaine curse and groan before slamming his door shut. 

Arthur found Merlin just where he’d left him, but his eyes were closed now. At first Arthur thought maybe he'd died, but then he saw that his chest was slowly rising and falling; he’d just passed out, that’s all. Arthur leaned down and put one hand beneath Merlin’s bent knees, and the other at the small of his back. He could feel his bony spine when he lifted him up and carried him down the alleyway. He paused for a moment though before he got to the car, because there was no telling how Gwaine and Percival would react—unfavourably, no doubt. His heart was beating fast and his face flushed when he finally reached the car. He couldn’t tell if it was from carrying such a heavy weight in his arms or the shame of carrying a man like this. Probably both. But then there was that tenderness like warmth blushing in his heart. And it was all for this filthy, frail, and yet somehow precious body. He held him closer. 

“What the hell…?” Percival gasped with a crazed look when he saw the boy. He opened the back door for Arthur, his eyes wide with shock as Arthur laid Merlin down in the seat and ran to the opposite side. He jumped in and closed the door, exhaling in both relief and exhaustion. But his heart was still racing and lungs heaving. 

“Is _that_ what I think is? The magicker?!” Gwaine exclaimed when he glanced back at the two of them. And just as the words left his mouth, a bullet shattered the window, barely missing his head. “Fuck!”

They were coming for them. Arthur looked ahead into the darkness and saw more patrol-men emerging from the wreckage. 

Percival’s arms gripped the wheel tightly as he revved the engine and the car sped off into the night. And then after a few miles, everything went quiet. They’d made it out alive, and escaped whoever was chasing them. For now, at least.

When they finally crossed the border and entered District 2, leaving behind streets laden with trash and crime and broken dreams, Gwaine turned his head and studied Arthur. He glanced at the boy with a sudden curiosity, though it seemed darkened by suspicion and wonder. Arthur knew that Gwaine had questions, but he remained silent about them, forever in discretion, and instead cut right to the chase.

“Once we get to District 1, we’re dropping you off at your flat so that you can get whatever you need. Leon will be waiting with a car that you can use. You need to leave Camelot while you still can.”

“Wait, what? Why are you doing this?” Arthur demanded. Gwaine exhaled deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. They’d have to slow everything down for him because he was still in a whirlwind of chaos. Gwaine knew that Arthur was suspicious and confused. Hell, he was too.

“I don’t know what’s going on between you and this magicker, Arthur, and I certainly don’t know what’s going on between you and your father.” This wasn’t entirely true. Gwaine knew enough about Uther’s treacherous ways; he’d suffered from them like any other citizen, though he was one of the more fortunate ones. He worked for Uther, did his dirty deeds, killed magickers, arrested them, threw them in brothels or prisons, and watched them burn slowly by the hand of their king. But he did it any way, all the while embittered towards the bastard. He did what he had to do. Even if he didn’t like it. But the prince, there was hope for him yet. And although he’d been led down the same path by his father, Gwaine could see something different in his eyes. He was looking at them now, goddammit, and they had a hunger, not for power or vengeance but for something _more_. They were also jaded now that he’d had a taste of his father’s true nature. Still, he needed Arthur to know that he could trust _them_. “Arthur, we weren’t conspiring with him, I swear. He instructed us to take you to the brothel. That’s it. We had no idea what the details were.”

“Did you know he was testing me?” Arthur asked, and Gwaine gave him a reluctant nod. “Then why did you take me there in the first place?”

“You know we can’t question the king’s motives!” Gwaine snapped back in a tone turned vicious. Not towards Arthur, of course, just the unforgiving reality of it all. “We have to do as we’re told. That’s just how it works around here.” He looked out the window, eyes steely as he spoke, and it suddenly occurred to Arthur—poor, naïve Arthur—that Gwaine was resentful towards Uther. Why, he didn’t know, but he saw the same expression on Percival’s face, proud and injured, as well. 

“How do I know you’re not lying… how do I know that you’re not just following orders now?” he asked, watching them both as they glanced from one another in mutual hesitation.

“We might serve under Uther, but you’re our captain and our friend. If we’d known what was going to happen, we wouldn’t have brought you there in the first place,” Percival finally answered. He seemed sincere enough. 

“Trust me, getting locked up and beaten to a pulp by the Lady Morgause’s henchmen wasn’t exactly my idea of a good time, either,” Gwaine added with a chuckle. 

“Wait—what?” Arthur asked, suddenly confused.

“Yeah. We don’t know if she was working under Uther’s orders or not, but she definitely had ulterior motives.”

“She tried to kill me, you know. She has magic.”

“What?!” they both cried out in unison. Arthur gave them a nod in affirmation. _This was new information_. They’d known she was bad news when her cronies turned on them, but they had no idea that she was a sorceress. It was almost unfathomable, considering that she tortured and exploited magic users on a daily basis. 

“So she’s prostituted magickers all this time, even though she’s one of them. Shit,” Percival let out a breathy laugh in disbelief. He’d known Morgause for a while, but he’d never even suspected. His eyes watched the road but his mind started turning in sudden realisation. “Arthur, if you tell your father what Morgause did, you might be able to get out of all this,” he said in a hopeful voice. He wasn’t like Gwaine—not near so resentful towards the king. But that was only because he’d never experienced the suffering, the gruelling, angst-ridden lives of magic users and the lower class.

“I’d be able to get out of what?” Arthur asked, uninspired by Percival’s optimism.

“If your father finds out you saved a magicker, there’s no telling what he’ll do to you,” Gwaine said with a pointed look, and Arthur knew that he was right. 

“He’s his son, though,” Percival tried to reason.

“Precisely.” Arthur’s voice was bitter when it came out, because he knew that being Uther’s son made all of his actions far graver. He pictured his father’s disappointed face, red and twitching with anger as he glared at Arthur. And in his son’s bright blue eyes he’d see shame and corruption. _A failure._ “I have to leave,” Arthur gasped when he resurfaced from the vision. “I can’t face him.”

“There still time. You can turn him in, or kill him, you know,” Gwaine suggested in a hushed voice. Arthur didn’t reply, but he glared at Gwaine with an unwavering firmness of mind. There was his answer. “Arthur, what happened? You used to kill magickers, and now you’re breaking them out of brothels. What changed you?”

“I haven’t changed,” Arthur insisted, though his voice cracked midway and he himself remained unconvinced. He looked down at his feet, fighting back the urge to cry, the sudden burn in his eyes as a torrid heat welled up behind them. He couldn’t cry—he didn’t, at least not since he was a child and his father hit him. He didn’t show emotion; he didn’t let people in; he didn’t even let himself in. 

The magicker stirred beside him. A strangled cough squeezed out of his throat, and he whined in a parched voice like he wanted to speak, but couldn’t. Arthur shushed him as the car jerked to a halt. Traffic light. 

“God, he’s made a mess of my seats,” Percival grumbled when he glanced back at them. Arthur said nothing.

Merlin was curled up in the seat, his legs hanging off the edge and hip bone jutted out. All you could see was the side of his long, bony body, shivering as cold air blew in through the shattered window. Arthur took off his jacket and slung it over him, covering the trembling nakedness best he could. The boy’s eyes closed and his breath slowed again. 

“You _have_ changed,” Gwaine stated quietly. Arthur glanced at the boy once more in consideration. He was almost sickened by the sudden tenderness that returned, blooming in his stomach at the sight of this stranger—a magicker—beneath his own jacket, and found that he couldn’t deny what Gwaine had said. 

“I had to save him,” he tried to reason. “He would’ve died, or… you know.”

“And what’s the life of a magicker? You’ve killed dozens of people like him.” 

“I know. I just—look,” he faltered, swallowing hard. “My father taught me everything I know about magic and how evil it is. But then I found out that he’s been lying to me all this time. Did you know he’s used magic before? Maybe he was lying to me about magic being evil too. I don’t know…” Arthur stopped when his voice suddenly caught in his throat and a hot tear trailed down his cheek. He wiped it away, hoping that no one had noticed. “But what I do know is that this magicker… Merlin… he saved my life with magic, maybe twice, and so it can’t be completely evil, can it?” He left it there, unfinished, because he’d said enough, stumbling over the mess of his thoughts and feeling the burn of tears threatening to spill out again. His whole face felt hot now with boiling frustration. Gwaine stared at him for a while, perhaps in disbelief that someone with magic had saved the prince of Camelot. Everyone hated the monarchy, especially magickers and the lower class. But he also could tell that Arthur wasn’t lying, so he accepted it as true. And then the boy wasn’t like any one he’d ever seen either.

“Well, if you don’t plan on arresting or killing him, you’ll definitely have to leave the city. But whatever you decide, we’re here for you.”

“Right,” Arthur replied in a hoarse voice, unable to speak any further. He pulled at the torn fabric of his jeans, trying to divert his mind from what was actually happening, though the cold reality was beginning to finally sink in. He knew that his father would come looking for him, or at least send other patrol-men to do the job. He didn’t know what was going to happen to Gwaine or Percival or Leon either. And then there was Morgause. He wondered if she was still set on killing him. 

They didn’t speak for the remainder of the drive. No remark was made when they entered District 1, or when the building of his flat came into view, or when the car rolled to a stop beside it. 

Gwaine and Arthur got out with a grunt, their bodies tired and beaten. Percival stayed in his spot, right hand still gripping the wheel and the other firmly placed on the clutch. A black car drove up and parked behind them. Percival’s eyes drifted to the rear-view mirror and watched as the front lights blinked twice before fading, signalling them. It was Leon. Arthur was almost afraid to meet eyes with him when he stepped out of the car and handed him the keys. So much had changed since two nights ago, after the incident with Morgana. That had been the beginning, really. 

Leon gave him a sympathetic smile and patted his shoulder. Leon was a tall man, extremely tall, with tousled hair and a full beard, though he was perhaps the kindest man Arthur knew. He didn’t seem like the type to be a patrol-man, and it was true that he only rarely made kills. He was usually the driver that transported arrests to the prisons, though on occasion he provided back-up whenever Arthur needed it. Perhaps he felt the same as Gwaine and Percival. Maybe it was because he was his friend, or maybe it was because they saw something in him—Arthur certainly didn’t know what it was—that his own father lacked.

“Gwaine texted me and told me everything. So, you’ve brought someone.” 

Arthur gave Gwaine a sideways glance, who only shrugged. “Yeah.” He took a nervous step towards the car to get the boy, but Percival jumped out and beat him to it. 

“Not with your back. I think you’ve done enough.” Arthur backed away reluctantly and watched Percival lift the boy easily from the backseat. His jacket was still draped over his torso and crotch. 

“He’s injured… and naked?” Leon noted in a puzzled voice when Percival carried him over to the other car. 

“Yeah, I’ll get him something.” Arthur replied, though his attention was still on Percival and Merlin. There was an inexplicable twist in his chest when Percival laid Merlin down in the backseat of Leon’s car—well it was Arthur’s car now—and his little body slumped against the leather before the door shut, concealing him. “He has magic,” Arthur stated shakily, looking away and worried over what Leon would think. Of all the men in his squad, Leon had been there the longest. He’d seen him make countless arrests and kills. He was probably wondering what the hell was wrong with him, showing a magicker such mercy . “I’m sorry,” Arthur exhaled with a sort of heaviness, as though he was apologising for everything—all of his failings—at once. 

“I know.” Leon said. His face wasn’t surprised or angry, and it held no expression of distrust or confusion; there was only a trace of concern in his placid, blue-grey eyes. Arthur found himself too ashamed to look into them. “It’s going to be all right though, OK?” Leon put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder and wouldn’t budge until Arthur’s fallen gaze shifted back to his. And for a fleeting moment, Arthur almost believed him, until Gwaine’s voice interrupted the silence between them. 

“You better go pack your things. You got any pills? Should probably get your tranquilliser, just in case.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll take care of it.” Arthur said, extricating himself from Leon and turning to the others. He didn’t mention what had occurred at the brothel, how Merlin had been given a shot of highly-concentrated antidote and then used magic to save him… perhaps twice. He still didn’t know whether or not he was responsible for the ceiling collapse in the backroom. It would’ve required powerful sorcery—more powerful that any kind he’d ever seen—to cause such destruction, and the boy had been injured as well, making it seem impossible. But either way, there was one thing that he was sure of: the boy was immune to the antidote. Arthur looked to the car again and a sinking terror resounded in his chest, cold and sudden, as he fully-grasped how dangerous the boy was. He wondered why this fear only came now and not when he’d made the decision to rescue him; perhaps because the boy had saved his life and spared it just the same, even with all of that power. Or perhaps it was simply because he hadn't been thinking of all the repercussions. But he didn’t have time for that, for thinking, then or now. _Now!_

“Arthur!” Gwaine’s low voice boomed, pulling Arthur from his drowning thoughts. It rasping note carried him back to the surface, its familiar tone like a wire he clung onto. And above it was the concrete reality of nightly streets littered with awful secrets and truths just as cold and unforgiving as his dismissed reflections. 

There stood the three of them, the best of his men. But he wasn’t their captain any more; he knew he had to abandon that title now, though it hadn’t really hit him yet—all that he was losing by making a single choice. He looked at them with a sense of waning pride, a weary sadness, and cleared his throat before trying to bid them good bye. But he couldn’t, because somehow this felt like the end and the unsaid words already tasted sour inside his mouth. 

“I might not see you again…” he tried to start in vain. _Don’t be a pussy_ , he tried to tell himself as he fought back the hot rush of tears. 

“Rubbish,” Leon retorted with only a half-hearted smile. “Take care yourself,” he said, and the others nodded as though they were repeating those same, solemn words. 

“You too,” Arthur managed, his voice cracking again. 

He watched them all depart in the same car, until they vanished, back-lights fading into the darkness of the night. It was like they’d vanished from his life as well. But the life he’d known was gone just the same. And with that final thought he turned around and started up the steps. 

~*~

Arthur’s flat was dark when he entered. He didn’t bother turning the lights on—he preferred it like this, and just went straight to his bedroom and reached into his closet, grabbing a duffel bag. His hand reached deeper into the darkness of his closet and hit the stiff, red material of his patrolling uniform. It hung there, ominously swaying like a lynched corpse. A chill in the air. He ignored it and started shoving shirts and jeans into his bag. He thought of Merlin and grabbed some extra trainers as well. 

He went over to his bedside table and opened the drawer. His right hand wavered for a second over the tranquilliser, but then grabbed a fresh magazine instead. He pulled out his gun and emptied the magazine chamber, jerking back the rack and pushing up on the slide lock, and then watched the final round fly out with a sharp _CLICK_. This was automatic for him, all of the quick, controlled movements of unloading and loading. It was like a reflexive exercise, almost cathartic in the state he was in. He took the fresh magazine and slammed it up into the empty well with his palm, pressed the slide lock, and then racked the slide again before slipping the gun into the pocket of his holster and strapping it on. He was ready.

As he walked in frantic, hurried steps towards the door, he felt his phone vibrate suddenly and he stopped. Panic made him freeze right there in front of the door. The screen illuminated his face, consumed by dread when he saw the single word that blinked urgently across it. _Dad_. 

**Dad.**

Next thing he knew, he was on the floor, crying and shaking as he watched the phone continue to vibrate. He knew. He knew. 

Arthur couldn’t face him. But he knew that his father would come looking him. He was probably already on his way. And he’d know where to find him if Arthur continued to carry this phone: his sole link to him and the rest of the squad. All of the patrol-men had tracking devices embedded within their phones so that they could find one another during missions. There was no doubt in his mind that Uther would use it to find him. 

And his mobile vibrated on and on, torturing him until he couldn’t take it any longer and threw it against the wall. It busted and parts flew all over the floor. 

“Fuck.” Arthur tore at his hair and rubbed his face until he could calm himself down and get up. He had to leave this damn place. 

Once he was outside, he pulled out his keys and got into the car. The boy was still lying in the backseat, but he had come to and was watching Arthur through heavy-lidded eyes. Arthur just looked at him, not knowing what to say. The jacket was still lying on top of him and Arthur noticed a card sticking out of the side pocket. Arthur reached for it with a trembling hand, afraid of what Merlin would do. But he only breathed out when Arthur’s hand bumped against his side and he retrieved the card. The name “Gaius” was printed on it along with a number and street address. _Gaius_ … the physician... Had he put the card there? Arthur looked at Merlin again. He needed treatment, and Arthur needed answers. He’d only met the old man once, but something told him he’d be willing to help. 


	5. Chapter 5

Arthur watched the road, an endless, whirring blur of asphalt as he drove on at full speed. He held up the card Gaius had left and re-read it for what seemed the tenth time. He’d already crossed the border into District 2, so it shouldn’t be much farther. Morning would be here soon. He could see the night sky up ahead, fading into a pale grey, but it was still dark and the black void of night was his sole comfort. There weren’t any other cars on the road. It was way past curfew and Camelot was sleeping, for the most part seemingly unaware of all the turmoil and chaos rumbling beneath its crumbling streets—all because of him.

It was quiet. Too quiet. 

There weren’t any patrol cars out, which was more disturbing than reassuring. The headlights of his car were the only things that illuminated his path now, but at least he could see ahead. 

His mind then was nothing like driving. It wasn’t racing forwards in a straight line; it was random in its uncommitted thoughts, yet to him, drugged and slow and empty. And there wasn’t any light, no guiding counsel, to help show him the way. He didn’t even have a bare glimpse of what was up ahead. And as the city faded into mere glittering specks behind him, he gripped the wheel with a nervous resignation of what he was leaving behind. He was running away for the first time in his life, fleeing from his previous destiny and rebelling against everything that he knew. But he didn’t feel guilt or fear any more, those anxieties had long been burnt out with the many miles he’d driven, though they might threaten to resurface again. He wasn’t sure, and he certainly couldn’t trust himself any more when it came to suppressing emotions. _God, he was so weak_. His father’s face flashed before his eyes like a ghost when he recalled throwing the phone against the wall, breaking the only link left to that world... to Camelot. 

Technically, he was still in the city boundaries, but it didn’t matter either way. The strings that had tied him to being a Pendragon… the future ruler of Camelot… had been swiftly cut against his will and yet, ironically, because of it. 

The cruel abruptness of everything made the night feel like a dream, or perhaps a nightmare. But then there was a striking reminder of how real it all was, and it was a tangible, living, breathing creature lying in his back seat. He stirred then, when the tire wheels screeched as Arthur took the nearest exit. He looked up into his rear view mirror and watched as the magicker awoke and blinked several times before sitting up. The jacket Arthur had placed on his shivering, naked body now fell into his lap, exposing the scratches and bruises on his bloodied chest and belly. The boy’s eyes went suddenly wide when he squinted into the darkness of the car and caught Arthur’s eyes on him in the rear-view mirror. Arthur felt his cheeks flush when their eyes met, and his eyes darted back to road as he silently cursed himself. 

He’d been under the constant gaze of others since birth. He was a prince… he’d been to galas and televised charities and meetings, socialising with some of the most influential people in the world. He didn’t necessarily like it, in fact he despised it—and that was the main reason why he liked patrolling undercover at night so much—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t act the part. It had been easy enough to pretend before. So why was his mouth suddenly dry and his face hot in the presence of a mere magicker? 

_Stop it_ he urged himself, swallowing his inhibitions and reaching into the duffel bag beside him. He pulled out some clothes and trainers and then tossed them behind his shoulder. “Here, put these on.” A hoodie landed on Merlin’s head, covering his face that was still visibly rattled with confusion.

“What’s going on? Why am I here? Where are you taking me?” His voice was as deep as before, and had the same chilling effect on Arthur, but there was also a noticeable rasp to it. _He’s probably thirsty_ , Arthur thought. He reached back into his bag and pulled out a bottle of water. 

“You ask a lot of questions,” Arthur finally said without answering any of them. His eyes drifted cautiously back to the rear view mirror. Merlin had managed to get into the jeans and was now struggling into a grey hoodie; his hairy chest puffed out and back arched before he finally got his arms through the sleeves. Arthur’s eyes darted away nervously. His heart was pounding in his throat, and his face hot. He blamed his nerves. “I’m taking you to a man I know. A physician…. You’ll need someone to treat those wounds,” Arthur muttered, not wanting to sound like he cared, because he didn’t. “So, do you remember anything from last night?” 

“I remember being arrested and taken to that place… that awful place… and then you saving me, and the building collapsing or something… that’s about it,” he replied slowly. His voice was still raspy and Arthur realised he hadn’t given him the water. 

“Did you do that? I mean… with magic?” he asked, handing him the bottle. Merlin looked down at it hesitantly and didn’t take it at first. “Don’t worry, it’s not drugged. And no antidote… not that it matters,” Arthur said in a bitter tone. His eyes remained on the road when Merlin took the bottle from his outstretched hand and gulped the whole thing within a few swallows. “And I guess you could kill me if you wanted to. But I’d advise you didn’t seeing as you’re a fugitive now and you need me to get out of the city. And since it was _me_ who got you out of there, you’re in even more danger. That’s just the reality of the situation.” Arthur spoke quickly and without emotion, his gaze glued ahead and stony expression rigidly set. “Now, tell me if it was you who saved me from Morgause and made that building collapse.” 

“I didn’t mean to, but yeah, I think so,” he finally said.

“You ‘didn’t mean to’?”

“I can’t control it… when it happens… it just does. And I don’t know why that shot didn’t work on me. That’s never happened before.” 

“Right. Whatever,” Arthur mumbled sarcastically. _The kid was a liar too. Great._ Just what he wanted for company. Not that he expected any less from a magicker. 

“It was an accident, I swear!” Suddenly Merlin was leaning forward, his face inches from Arthur’s own.

It caught Arthur by surprise and he almost swerved into the other lane. He looked over though and noticed how serious the boy looked, his furrowed brow and fierce eyes more desperate than threatening. Still, the close proximity made him sweat.

“Yeah, and I bet whatever got you arrested and sent to a brothel was an accident too,” Arthur rebuffed sarcastically, though he actually almost wanted to believe him. Merlin sat back in his seat with an exasperated sigh, and Arthur felt himself cool down.

“Well it saved your royal ass, didn’t it?” he quipped, his lilting voice almost playful despite how grave everything was. 

Arthur hadn’t expected the cheeky remark, and for a moment just sat there with his hands gripping the wheel and lips tightly pursed. No one had ever talked to him like that besides Gwaine. And now this scrawny nobody, a magicker from District 3 that he’d sacrificed so much for (why had he again?), was acting like they were on the same level. He was about to say that he couldn’t talk to him like that, but then he swallowed what little pride he had left and just muttered under his breath, “I think I liked you better when you were unconscious.” 

“You’re not exactly the prince charming I had in mind either,” Merlin said, a hint of playfulness still in his voice. But Arthur’s next reply was far more severe. 

“You don’t know anything about me. And I’m certainly not some knight in shining armour that’s come to save you.” _I’m barley even royalty any more_ , he almost said. 

It was utterly quiet for a while, until Arthur turned off of the highway and onto the road of Gaius’ house, and a little voice peeped up. “But you did.” He sounded different, not as sure-fire and deep or light and frisky as he’d been just moments ago. His voice was almost hollow and timid. But he was right. 

Arthur didn’t say anything. He was thinking quietly to himself though, as he passed each house that lined the street. They were all like carbon copies of one another; all with white siding and grey-shuttered windows. The number that was plastered to each door the only unique marker. Everything was in shades of yellow or pastel under the dusky sunlight. _Morning was here._

He wondered which was more earth-shattering… that he, the prince of Camelot, had saved a magicker, or that a magicker had saved him. Surely Merlin was well-acquainted with the law and what people like Arthur usually did with his kind. And he had mentioned never being able to use his magic before, after being given the antidote... that meant he’d been tranquillised before. It wouldn’t surprise Arthur if he’d been sent to a brothel before too, and he was about to ask, but then he saw the house number he needed—number 68, and said instead “here it is” as he turned into the driveway. The house was rather modest compared to the Pendragon estate, of course all other houses were. But still, he expected a lot more for the “best physician in Camelot”. 

He stepped out of the car and saw Gaius peer through a front window, his bushy brows doing an odd dance that Arthur figured was surprise. _Maybe I should have called him before I smashed my phone…_ Arthur mused before Gaius rushed out to meet him. 

“Arthur? What’s happened?” He looked at Arthur’s ripped jeans and t-shirt, stained by Merlin’s blood from when he’d carried him. 

Merlin got out of the car and limped towards them, looking rather reluctant and shy. His head was bent down and he didn’t make eye contact with either of them, even though Gaius was watching him like a hawk. Most of his bruises and cuts were covered now that he was dressed, but he still looked like hell with Arthur’s clothes hanging from his skeletal frame, face smeared with blood and spit, and dark hair in greasy tufts that stuck out in all directions. 

“Good God, what’s this?” Gaius asked, still staring at the wreck that was Merlin, who just glanced at Arthur warily. 

“His name’s Merlin.” He looked back at Merlin cautiously and then at Gaius again. “He’s a magicker.”

At first Gaius looked as though he didn’t believe what Arthur had just told him, and then he glanced between the two boys before staring at Arthur with that calculating gaze. It made him nervous, just like when Gaius had first treated him and told him about how magic had been used to make the antidote, how his father had exploited something by which he sought to destroy. Maybe it was just because his eyes seemed so timeworn and wise, like he was seeing right through him and all of the insecurities Arthur himself hadn’t discovered. 

“I need your help,” he finally managed to spit out, not yet prepared to tell the long story. But he kept his eyes locked with the old man’s, knowing he had to ask. “Can you help me, Gaius?”

~*~

Precisely forty-eight minutes later, Arthur was sitting alone in Gaius’ kitchen, tracing his finger along the rim of his half-empty teacup. Arthur had told Gaius everything about last night—true, all in disjointed fragments or run-on sentences that trailed to a soundless thrush of heavy breathing because saying it out loud to an almost-stranger was far more difficult than he’d imagined. Merlin had sat there silently while Arthur talked about the brothel and Morgause and the mysterious phone call from his father. He had even told Gaius about being forced to give Merlin the shot, but when he got to the part where Merlin saved him from Morgause, Gaius stopped him.

“But wait, I’m sorry but… _how_ is it possible that you used magic?” he had asked Merlin, before turning back to Arthur. “I thought you said that you had given him a shot of the antidote?” 

And that’s when Merlin had simply looked down shyly and began to tell Gaius what happened in his own, shaking voice. 

At first Gaius had just stood there in complete disbelief, leaning against the counter with his hands gripping the edges, and then he mumbled something about destiny in a near-state of delirium, and Arthur and Merlin just traded worried glances until Gaius had finally regained his composure and asked Arthur to continue.

But still, even as Arthur recalled telling Gaius about the rest of night, he remembered Gaius blanking out while staring thoughtfully at Merlin. And Merlin—he had acted strangely too, keeping quiet for the remainder of the story, only looking down at his hands with the same shy reservation.

And now Arthur was downing his last dregs of tea while Gaius tended to Merlin’s wounds in his home office. He had gotten a chance to catch a glimpse of the inside just before being sent out by Gaius. There had been shelves lining the walls, filled with rows of brown bottles. And there had been all sorts of surgical tools carefully laid out on a table near the back wall. There had also been another table, with cushions though, that Gaius told Merlin to lie down on after removing his clothes. Arthur didn’t get a chance to see any of that though; Gaius had told him to go and wait in the kitchen while he treated him. But he’d heard Merlin’s pained grunts while taking off his shirt, and then their low murmurs behind the closed door. 

He wondered what they were talking about now. He sat there, drumming his finger against the cold, hard surface of the granite countertop, and beginning to feel rather nervous and suspicious about everything. He remembered Gaius telling him at the Pendragon estate that he had used magic to make the antidote. Both of them had magic. Maybe this was a bad idea. But then Gaius appeared suddenly.

“Well,” he said, standing up.

“Expect for all of those minor cuts and bruises, a cracked rib and sprained ankle, just as I suspected.” Gaius answered curtly. “I went ahead and healed him. I hope you don’t mind…” 

“No… no, I guess not,” Arthur breathed out, not knowing if it mattered anymore; it’ not like he could bloody well arrest him. Besides, a cripple wasn’t the best company for someone on the run. Not that he wanted the magicker for company. But he was stuck with him now. 

“Still some magic in these old bones,” Gaius laughed, cracking his knuckles with a grunt. “How’s your back? I could heal it right now if you want…”

“It’s fine,” Arthur said curtly without even considering his offer. But Gaius didn’t try to press it any further. 

Gaius went quiet as a contemplative look settled over his wrinkled face. Arthur could tell that he was hiding something. “There’s something else I should tell you, Arthur… about the boy,” he finally confessed in a grave voice. 

It made Arthur feel really sick all of a sudden. Not because he was worried that there might be something wrong with Merlin, and definitely not because he cared. But what Gaius was about to say had nothing to do with Merlin’s health. 

“He was able the stop a bottle from falling in mid-air. I’d dropped it, intentionally, just as a little test. But he did it with no spells or incantations… just like that,” Gaius whispered in a secretive voice and snapped his finger on the last, breathless phrase.

“Yeah, he did that at the brothel too…” Arthur recalled. It hadn’t registered as anything remarkable at the time. Hell, just the fact that he’d used magic after being tranquillised had been enough to shock Arthur. But now that he thought about it, Morgana hadn’t chanted anything before throwing him against the brick wall either. A chill went straight through him upon that memory and he tried to blank it out. 

“The boy’s a bit rough around the edges, but after seeing that—and based on what he’s told me—I believe that he could be what the prophesies spoke of.”

Merlin appeared in hallway, just catching the end of what Gaius had said. He looked at Arthur with his wide eyes and just shrugged sympathetically. Apparently he had already gotten a taste of what Arthur could only call the deranged babblings of an old man. 

“Come with me, I want to show you something,” Gaius said mysteriously and signalled for them both to follow him. “It’s best you come along as well,” he added, looking back at Merlin. “After all, you are the other half…” his voice trailed down the hallway as he walked off. Arthur glanced over at Merlin, who attempted a smile, but Arthur just shot him a dirty look before going after Gaius.

He didn’t notice how Merlin was now following behind him, his face contemplative and perhaps even a little sad. 

Merlin had some inkling of what it all meant, the bit about prophesies and other halves, though it was difficult to explain how. He felt it like the barest hint of a tremor in his bones or a slight pang of nostalgia deep inside his chest. He’d had that same funny feeling back at the brothel, when he’d first met eyes with Arthur. 

He looked into them and he knew instantly that this person, regardless of his past, was irrevocably tied to him… they were connected. But he still wasn’t sure if Arthur felt the same way, and he was too afraid to ask. He’d probably think he was crazy. But still, Merlin could recall crude flashes of a dream he’d once had as a young boy. There was a man who looked like him, only older and dressed in strange clothes, surrounded by grass and trees. There’d been a huge lake too. He’d never actually touched a tree before, let alone seen a lake. In his lap was a man about the same age, dressed in metal armour. He was dying… and he looked like Arthur, Merlin could have sworn it. But maybe he was just fooling himself, desperately clinging onto the memory of a half-forgotten, childhood dream.

But there was no denying what he’d felt while gazing into Arthur’s bright blue eyes. He might’ve fallen in love, just a little. 

His thoughts were interrupted though when Gaius led them through his house and began to speak. “When I was much younger, I was not only schooled in medicine, but also sorcery—it was still permitted then, of course. Your father showed me great mercy when he decided to ban magic from the entire city. He said that I would not be punished in any way, as long as I stopped using magic and found something that would rid magickers of it entirely. We both know that neither of these things happened though; I still used magic every now and then—never for my own gain though, and I even had to use it to find an antidote, which didn’t succeed in taking away magic permanently. Only temporarily, and that very potion can be found in the needles and tranquillisers used today.” 

Gaius had already told Arthur most of this information before, but not Merlin, who was all ears now. And it seemed as though the conversation necessitated it, like he was leading up to something even more important and confidential. 

He led them into a small room with only a desk and dusty bookshelf that covered the entirety of the back wall. Most people didn’t own books anymore and rarely even used paper to write. Everything was digitalised now, but the fact that an old man possessed such obsolete things didn’t seem that strange. Even so, Arthur’s breath caught in his throat when Gaius put his hand on the spine of an old book bound in leather. He almost anticipated the wall to move when Gaius pulled it back. But nothing happened, not a creak or stir, and the room went utterly silent during that anti-climactic pause. Gaius stared at the book curiously and whispered, “Well that’s strange”, as though he were echoing their thoughts, before snapping, “Oh of course!” and tsked at himself for his own lapse of memory. He reached up a shelf higher and removed two volumes from an encyclopaedia, revealing a number pad. 

“Can never be too careful, Gaius commented with a chuckle before punching in the code with a gnarled finger. 

“Of course,” Arthur muttered under his breath, amused by the stark contrast of metal against aged oak, technology against antiquity. 

Gaius pulled back on the book once more, this time actually achieving what he had initially intended. There was a pronounced _click_ before the bookshelf creaked slightly open and revealed a sliver of black space. 

Gaius squeezed through the opening first, followed by the other two whose steps were cautious and wary. They stood in anticipation as Gaius groped the wall for something. Arthur started to reach inside his jacket for his gun, fearing that they’d been led into a trap, until Gaius found the lights and they gradually flickered on. The room flooded with brightness, revealing all of the strange things hidden inside. 

It was a large room, but looked small because of how cluttered it was. The floors and tables were covered in glittering stones and bottled potions, along with stacks of yellowed papers and intricately carved chests, sceptres, crystal balls, and enchanted mirrors. None of these things Arthur or Merlin recognised, Arthur being born just days before the Great Purge began, and Merlin a few years after. But they could both tell hat these things were extremely old and valuable.

But perhaps the most amazing thing about the hidden room was the sheer amount of books. There must have been a thousand. They were on bookshelves covering every wall, and in great, towering stacks on the floor, all caked with dust and bound in leather that was engraved with some sort of ancient language. 

There was a scent imbued within the stained and brittle pages of every book, and while Arthur and Merlin had never smelled that scent before, it seemed somehow familiar.

“What is all this…” Merlin whispered. Arthur glanced back at his little face in the low light, filled with wonder, and felt his throat go dry. He swallowed hard and blamed it on the dust. 

“Contraband items, all with magical properties or related to sorcery. Such things were outlawed during the Great Purge, of course. All of these priceless treasures would’ve been destroyed, and these irreplaceable books, burned to ashes. I just couldn’t bear to see it happen, so I saved what little I could and hid it in this room. I’d most likely be executed if this room was discovered, but I don’t use any of these things.” 

“And why are you showing us?” Arthur asked.

“Oh, right,” Gaius suddenly said, as though he’d forgotten why he’d brought them there in the first place. He walked over to the bookcase and began to crawl up a rolling ladder attached to it. “When your father banned magic, he arrested and executed some of the most powerful magickers in Camelot. But some did manage to escape, one of them being a witch by the name of Aithusa. She claimed to have dragon blood in her, which seems like poppycock to me considering that dragons died out centuries ago.”

“Dragons? You’re fucking kidding, right?” Arthur scoffed with a laugh, before Gaius just looked at him with that crooked brow and serious gaze. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Look here,” he said when he retrieved a book and stepped down from the ladder. He flipped to a page and showed it to both Arthur and Merlin, “According to this book, the last dragon to have existed.” He pointed to an illustration of a pure white dragon with tattered wings. 

“So? that doesn’t prove anything. And I still don’t see what this has to do with what’s going on now.” 

“Dragons possessed the power of foresight, to see the future,” Gaius emphasised rather exasperatedly, forgetting how little Arthur knew about the history of sorcery. “If the witch Aithusa really did have dragon blood in her, then there’s no doubt she too possessed such powers. 

“There had been several different prophesies during the Great Purge, claiming that someone would depose your father and end the ban on magic. But Aithusa’s prophesy was far more specific. She foretold that you, Arthur, would be the one to dethrone Uther and replace him, ending the ban on magic… all with the help of a single magicker.” 

When Gaius spoke the last words, Arthur felt his heart stutter in his chest with a horrible sense of dread, before he glanced at Merlin’s dumbstruck face and it stuttered again.


End file.
